Poison and Wine
by clafount
Summary: The Wardens have always been warriors of exceptional ability, until Duncan recruits a noblewoman with a brilliant mind and no combat experience. Elissa will uncover conspiracies, lies, and secrets, and no friend or foe is immune to her observational skills. But she may learn that there are some secrets better left unknown. Slight AU campaign with cameos from other origins.
1. Run

_Welcome to my take on the Cousland origin and the Origins campaign. I thought it would be fun to explore what the story would have been like if the Warden had been recruited for her brains and not her fighting ability. I take some liberties with canon and I throw in cameos from other Origins, so the story is slightly AU for all of that._

_Thanks for reading, and please feel free to leave a review. And now, on to the story._

* * *

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 1: Run_

_Run fast for your mother run fast for your father  
__Run for your children for your sisters and brothers  
__Leave all your love and your longing behind, you  
__Can't carry it with you if you want to survive  
_ –Dog Days Are Over, Florence + the Machine_  
_

Elissa looked at her bloody hands, holding them up to her face in wide-eyed horror. She spread her fingers and the gore stretched between them like strings.

_Gross._

The body of a soldier lay at her feet. Blood dripped from the caverns that were once his eyes to pool on the stone floor of her bedroom.

She wiped her hands on her skirt. Her stomach heaved. _I did that._

She heard a man scream followed by a dog snarling ferociously. Then the scream abruptly stopped, replaced with a wet, ripping noise.

She fell to her knees and retched—heaving until there was nothing left but bile. Finally, the spasms stopped and she sat back on her heels and stared at the bloody comma marks now adorning the skirt of her once beautiful velvet gown. _I should change._

The sounds of another fight drifted to her, punctuated with a high pitched yelp that could only mean that her mabari, Prince, was hurt.

The noise was like a slap to the face. What was she doing in here staring at her hands when Prince was out there killing himself to protect her? She dragged a sleeve across her face and stood, before running to the door.

Just as she got to it she froze. _Stop. __Think. _Going out there without a weapon would be foolish—even if she didn't know how to use it, having it was better than not.

She knelt and yanked the shield off the arm of the dead soldier and then picked up his weapon. Her fingers were still slick with blood and so she dropped it; the sword clattered to the floor with a loud _clang_. She picked it up again and held it more firmly, surprised at how light it felt in her hand, and then tiptoed over another man's corpse. His throat was ravaged into an ugly gash.

_Good job, Prince._

She heard Prince yelp again, and watched as he charged the two men at the other end of the Cousland family wing, outside the closed door of her parents' bedroom. The momentum of his charge bowled one of the men over, and they fell to the ground together. Prince snapped his powerful jaws trying to get at the man's neck, but the soldier got an armored arm between himself and the dog. They rolled on the floor while the other man stood near by them, sword poised to swing at the next opening.

At the sight of her mabari in mortal peril, Elissa felt her heart beat wildly in her chest. She sprinted forward to defend her mabari with no conscious thought of what she would do when she got there, her blood rushing in her ears.

The other man was absorbed enough in the fight that he didn't hear her until she was almost upon him. He was too surprised to block the jabbing thrust she made at his throat with her sword.

It was only at this moment that she realized she had the weapon in her left hand, and the shield in her right—her dominant one. Instead of piercing the center of the man's throat the sword slid across it to the left. Still, the blade was sharp and the aim was true enough to slice the throat open. He stumbled backward, lifting his hands to his throat and choking on bubbling blood.

Elissa watched him die, frozen in place. This was the second man she had killed in a matter of minutes, she realized numbly.

Another yelp from Prince made her heart lurch. She turned in time to see the man fighting Prince stand. Prince lay still at his feet.

A sickening heat took over her body—white-hot, and all consuming. _"No!" _

The man looked up at her with an angry sneer and leapt, swinging his sword.

Just in time she lifted her shield and blocked it, stumbling under the force of the blow. She tried to take a step backward, but she tripped on her long gown and fell, landing painfully on the stone floor and dropping her sword yet again. It clattered away out of reach.

He was on her in a flash, and it was only her downward momentum and dumb luck that allowed her to bring up her shield in time to block the blow. The brute force of it reverberated painfully up her arm and shoulder and she cried out. She tried to raise the shield again but her arm wouldn't move without searing pain.

The man loomed over her, looking her up and down. She must have seemed like easy prey—sprawled on the floor in her velvet gown, covered in blood. It only took him an instant to realize the mismatch and he smirked. He took his time lifting his sword for another blow.

Instinct took over. She grabbed her shield arm with her other arm and yanked it up and across. Moving it made her scream, and then the blow she blocked was mind-shatteringly painful. Elissa saw only white light for a few seconds, before coming back to life with the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

She was lying flat on the floor, completely unable to move. The man raised his sword for a final strike.

This was the end. The lack of choice offered a weird sort of peace and she accepted it. She closed her eyes—literally the only thing she could do to prepare for the final blow.

But it didn't come.

She opened her eyes. An arrow sprouted from the man's neck and he fell over, sword clanking uselessly to the side. He landed on top of her, but the relief she felt overwhelmed the pain."Thank the Maker," she muttered.

"Elissa! I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst!"

She looked up with a weak smile, heartened by the sight of her battle maiden of a mother, still resplendent in her leather armor after all these years. Her mother hauled the lifeless body off of her, eyes widening when she saw the blood on her hands and dress. "Darling! Are you hurt?"

"No. Wait, yes." Elissa was fairly sure her arm was broken. "But this isn't my blood. It's my arm."

Her mother helped her get to a sitting position and then knelt by her. Gently, she lifted Elissa's right arm, careful not to jostle the shield.

She hissed in pain anyway. "It's my forearm," she winced.

"Probably a fracture," Eleanor said under her breath as she removed the shield. She gasped. "This is the seal of Amaranthine. These are Howe's men! Why would they attack us?"

"He attacks while our troops are gone."

"You don't think Howe's men were delayed . . . on purpose?"

"No. _Obviously,_ I don't think they were _delayed_ at all. They were just camped nearby, waiting for the right moment to strike." She shook her head in mute anger for a moment before saying through clenched teeth. "I can't believe I didn't see this coming."

"Darling, not even _you_ could predict this."

Her mother's words offered no comfort. She could have predicted this, perhaps, if she hadn't been so damned _distracted_ . . .

Eleanor gasped again. "Have you seen your father? He never came to bed!"

"Where did you see him last?"

"He stayed up late, drinking with the Arl. Oh, Maker." Eleanor raised her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with fear.

The white-hot, all-consuming rage from earlier threatened to come back, but Elissa forced it back down. "Alright," she said with a scowl. "We need to find father."

"Andraste's mercy! What if the soldiers went into your brother's room first?"

Elissa's blood seemed to chill in an instant. She had heard a woman's scream, she remembered now. With a clarity she despised she knew without a doubt that her sister-in-law was dead. She couldn't keep this knowledge from her face and she saw her mother see it. "I heard a woman scream . . ."

Eleanor's face crumpled. "_No._"

Elissa blinked away tears and tried to ignore the sudden grief. "Maybe Oren hid," she said, voice threatening to crack. "It's possible."

From the look on her face, she could tell that her mother saw the offering for what it was: slim, futile hope that would get them through the next moments, at least. Her lip trembled and tears fell down her cheeks, but she didn't break.

"Let's go check, quickly. Then we'll look for Bryce downstairs." With that, her mother stood and rushed to the door, which she flung open. In that brief moment Elissa's heart flew to her throat—the hope that Oren was alive was too buoying for her to just ignore, dangerous as it might be.

Her mother choked out a sob. "_No!_ My little Oren! What manner of fiend slaughters innocents?!"

And just like that the hope was gone, leaving her feeling emptier than the moment before it. _Alright, no more hope, _she thought as she forced herself to take the last few steps into the room.

Oriana's body lay on the floor in front of her. She couldn't see the fatal wound, crumpled as her body was on the bedroom rug, but she was deathly still, and surrounded in a wide pool of blood.

Elissa knelt down to her sister-in-law, not caring that the blood soaked her skirts. She reached out to touch the woman's neck with her fingertips, but felt no sign of life. She heard another choked sob and looked up to see her mother cradling Oren in her arms, rocking back and forth.

"I will make them _pay_ for this," she hissed, surprising herself at the venom in her tone.

"Howe is not even taking hostages! He means to kill all of us!" Eleanor shook her head and gently laid the boy back down on the bedroom rug. "Oh, poor Fergus . . .let's go. I don't want to see this!"

Elissa closed her eyes and willed the rage back down. It was useful for spurring her into action, but now she needed to _think . . ._

Just then she heard a soft whine from the hall. Hope sprung up in her chest unbidden and unwanted, but nevertheless she dashed out the door. "Prince!"

The mabari still lay in the same position by the bedroom door, but his eyes were open and in the span of a heartbeat Elissa saw them move, and knew that he was alive.

"Oh Prince!" she cried, collapsing in front of her dog and breaking down into sudden sobs. In spite of her earlier promise, she found herself surging with sudden hope. If Prince lived, he could fight for her. They might have a chance.

"He's alive!" Eleanor was at her side.

"Yes. But we need to heal him."

"Wait here." Eleanor rushed back into the master bedroom.

Elissa let out a breath and looked to Prince's wounds. He had a nasty looking slash across his chest and his breathing was shallow. He whined softly at her, and he shook under her hands as she pet him. She tried not to show the worry that was threatening to overcome her hope—she didn't want Prince to see that.

Her mother appeared at her side, the faint red glow of a healing potion in her hand. "I only have one potion . . ."

"Give it to Prince."

"But, your arm is _broken._"

"Fractured, you said."

"I'm no healer, but you're my _daughter, _and as much as we might love him, Prince is just a dog—"

"He is _not_ just a dog!"

Her mother's mouth set in a thin, grim line. "Elissa. This is no time for sentimentality—"

"It's not that. It's really _not_."

Eleanor started to respond and then stopped, searching her daughter's face. "What is it?"

It hurt a little to admit it. "Even with my arm healed, he's twice the fighter I am. You know that." Tears started to prickle at the edges of her eyes. "Congratulations. You were right. I should have focused more on arms and combat. I'm sorry. I've let everyone down." She bent her head.

"Elissa, look at me." Eleanor took her gently by the chin and turned her face toward hers. "_Look_ at me. Good. Now listen. No amount of training can prepare you for this. _None_, you hear me?"

She nodded.

"What matters is how you react, and you are doing _fine_. You may not know how to fight but you are quick and you are clever and you have gotten this far."

Elissa took a deep breath, hearing the truth in her mother's words. They were alive—all three of them, and that was a fact she could cling to. She blinked away fresh tears. "That's right," she said, trying to sound brave. "I'll just think up a way out of this."

Eleanor smiled. "That's my clever pup," she said. "You have a plan, don't you? You always have a plan!"

Elissa looked her mother square in the eye and did her best not to sigh. "The first step," she said patiently and slowly. ". . . involves you giving the healing potion to the damn dog."

"Right. Alright, fine." Eleanor shook her head and knelt beside Prince. She began to spread the potion over the nasty-looking wound.

Now that Elissa had convinced her mother to save Prince the only thing she had left was raw-edged worry. It was awful, worrying that he wouldn't live, and also worrying that his death would certainly spell her own. She wanted to only worry for _his_ sake but the cold, sharp practical region of her mind knew with a disturbing clarity that her survival depended on his.

The wound closed before their eyes. It remained red and angry looking, but the hound lifted his head and huffed at them.

Elissa gave a huff of her own as she let the breath out she didn't realize she was holding. "Thank the Maker!"

Even her mother couldn't help smiling when Prince got to his feet and happily started wagging his tail, licking Elissa's face and acting for the entire world like nothing ever happened. Elissa grinned and hugged the dog to her chest, more grateful than she could explain that her mabari was alive.

"What's your plan, Elissa?" She looked up to see her mother staring fretfully down the darkened hall.

She gulped. "Healing Prince was step one. I still haven't figured out step two . . ."

"Elissa!"

"Let's get in your room."

They entered the master bedroom and bolted the door. Elissa moved quickly over to the open chest along the wall, while her mother went to the bed and began pulling a sheet off it. She stared into the chest, hoping something inside would spark insight into a solution, trying to _think_, but the pain in her arm and shoulder was mind numbing.

Eleanor was at her shoulder with a long swath of the bed sheet.

"Let's get that arm in a sling."

Her mother's hands were expert at this, and she wrapped her injured arm securely against her body. It hurt, but once the sling was in place the forced stillness helped to dull the pain a tiny bit.

"I saved a few drops." Her mother handed her the tiny healing vial. "Don't be upset."

Elissa could only feel gratitude. She grabbed the vial and downed the last few drops. It wasn't much, but it lessened the pain enough to allow logical thought.

Screams, both awful and distant, reached their ears. Prince was on his feet and growling. Elissa put a finger to her lips and whispered, "Prince, silence."

He complied, and she was almost overwhelmed by the surge of gratitude and love she felt at his sudden and uncharacteristic obedience. Elissa gave another prayer, silently, to the Maker. "Good boy."

"The fighting is getting closer," Eleanor said lowly.

"Alright. Alright." Elissa's eyes searched the chest. She grabbed a dagger and set it on the ground beside her before she spotted a contraption made of metal and including an odd shaped bottle. With a gasp, she lifted it.

"You saved this?" She showed the small grease trap to her mother.

Eleanor snorted. "_Confiscated_, if you recall," she said, and in spite of the dread situation, her mother smirked. "Too many innocent passersby were caught up in your prank war with Fergus."

She started chuckle, but then the images of Oren and Oriana's bodies sprang to her mind and her heartache was suddenly more intense. Fergus: how would they tell him?

She shook her head and placed the trap on the ground next to her, before retrieving a leather belt from the chest and attempting to wrap it around her waist. Her mother came over and helped her buckle the belt. In the distance, she heard screaming and the sound of metal ringing against metal.

"Can you hear the fighting? Howe's men must be everywhere," Eleanor said, sitting next to Elissa.

Elissa looked up and placed her good hand on her mother's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll get us out of here," she said, trying to project a confidence she didn't exactly feel. "I have an idea, but it might be a bit. . . dangerous."

The look her mother gave her at that was chilling. "My only grandchild is a ravaged corpse. What do I care about danger?" she said.

"Right." Elissa said, fighting back tears. She picked up the grease trap, walked over to the door and put an ear against it. "I don't think they are in this hall yet," she whispered. "Wait here."

She didn't wait for her mother to protest before tucking the trap under her arm and slipping out the door and into the wide hall. She heard fighting in the distance, but no one had entered this wing just yet. She quickly rushed to the entrance of the large hall and knelt to place the grease trap on the ground, at the top of the hallway that sloped down to the lower level of the castle.

A sudden shout sounded much closer, and Elissa realized as she looked up that she'd been spotted. A group of men started running up the hallway toward her.

She finished arming the trap with one hand, and then turned to run back to the room. Her mother stood in the doorway of her bedroom and Prince lunged out past her and into the hall, barking viciously.

"Move!" Eleanor cried as she brought up her bow and notched an arrow in it.

"Prince, hold!" Elissa shouted in command, as Prince charged by her.

The dog didn't hesitate. He charged down the hall toward the grease trap.

Fear almost closed her throat_. If he trips it first . . ._

She took a deep breath and shouted in the loudest, deepest, most _this-means-business_ voice she could muster, "Prince, to me NOW!"

Miraculously, the incorrigible hound _listened_ for once and he skidded to a stop right before reaching the trap. He stood there and barked at the men approaching.

"Here! NOW!" she yelled again, and finally the stubborn dog ran back to her.

Elissa grabbed a torch off the wall just as rest of the men got to the top of the ramp. One of them tripped the trap and the bottle exploded—a thick slippery substance splattered around them and two men in front went down, hard. The three behind them slid but kept their feet.

With a running step for momentum, Elissa tossed the torch over Prince's head and into the center of the group of men.

The oil ignited in a violent whoosh. The two men on the ground were quickly consumed in flames, and they screamed in terrible agony. Elissa stumbled backward, trying to get away from the sudden heat as the fire took off, igniting the men still on their feet.

Prince danced around her, barking maniacally. Eleanor ran up and shot one of the standing men. The arrow landed in his throat and he went down into the flames. She quickly shot two more arrows, felling the rest of the men.

One of the first men to fall _somehow_ managed to get to his feet, and came stumbling toward Elissa.

"Get back!" Eleanor screamed as the man lunged toward her. Eleanor shot him with another arrow but the man, mad with pain and fear, didn't stop.

Elissa stumbled backward. The man fell forward, and one flaming hand touched the bottom of her blood-stained skirt. It was so wet that it didn't ignite immediately, but smoldered at the bottom.

Panic seized Elissa and she froze, staring at the flaming corpse in front of her and the orange glowing line that slowly crept up her skirt.

She snapped back to reality when her mother tackled her with a wall tapestry, knocking her to the ground and beating the fire out of her skirts. Finally convinced that the flames were out, Eleanor stopped and the two women slumped together.

"Maker's _blood," _Eleanor said. There were five bodies writhing in flames before them. They sat there and watched them until they finally stopped moving.

Relief washed over Elissa in spite of the horror. _That's seven._ Seven men she had managed to kill in the span of—she realized she had no idea how much time had passed—so much happened at once. But miraculously, she was still alive.

"I know, right?" she said, and then grabbed her mother's arm. "And for my next trick . . ." she waggled her eyebrows at her mother and then led her into the guest bedroom next to her own. Prince finally stopped barking and joined them.

A stone tub abutted the back wall. Elissa hiked up the ruins of her skirt to climb the steps into it.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Elissa stared at the wall and bit her lip, trying to remember. "There's a secret passage here to the study," she said, reaching out tentatively to push on a stone in the upper right corner of the wall. It gave slightly at her push and she smiled to herself, more confident that she remembered the combination.

"A secret passage? How is it that you know about this when I do not?"

Elissa pushed another couple of stones and then the wall slid away with a rumble. Her mother gasped and she turned around and gave her a wicked grin.

"I thought you vowed to stop asking that question?" she said with a smirk before climbing into the passage and holding out a hand to her mother. "Now, come on! Let's go find father."

With a shake of her head Eleanor took her daughter's hand and let Elissa lead her into the darkness.


	2. Fall

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 2: Fall_

_Who will love you?  
__Who will fight?  
__Who will fall far far behind?  
_–Skinny Love, Bon Iver_  
_

"I should have changed," Elissa said, for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Her mother lifted a chain mail chest piece over Elissa's shoulders and she shrugged it on, taking care not to jostle her arm. They'd found more health potions in the treasury, thank the Maker, and so her arm and shoulder were mostly fine now, but she knew she'd end up with some pretty bad bruises.

She snorted, imagining how that would add to her appearance. Elissa almost wanted a mirror, just to see how ridiculous she must look. Her hair hung unbound down her back in a ragged gold river smattered with blood. She still wore the velvet gown, though it was singed and blood-stained.

Their trip to the study and the library beyond had further revealed the brutality of the Arl's attack. Howe's soldiers spared no one—not the poor elven servants in their beds, not the aged old tutor Aldous, and not even poor Mother Mallol.

Elissa couldn't begin to comprehend the evil behind this, but the cold sharp part of her mind that was working overtime to keep them all alive told her she didn't need to. She need only focus on surviving each moment, praying that insight would come when she needed it, and hoping that her mother and Prince could do her fighting for her.

"Wait," Eleanor said, pulling at her daughter's arm. Her face was somber, but determined. "Listen, darling, we haven't much time. If we can't find your father, you _must_ get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the entire Cousland line dies here. If Howe's men are inside, they must already control the castle. We must use the servants' entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?"

Escape. It had come to that then. Elissa knew her mother spoke the truth. The castle had fallen, they couldn't retake it themselves. They needed to get out—they needed to survive. They all did.

Placing the Shield of Highever on her back and sheathing the Cousland family sword at her hip had a disturbing finality to it, however.

She shook her head. She didn't have time to think about it. She and her mother followed the trail of blood out of the treasury and through the halls of the castle. When they approached the Great Hall, they could hear the sounds of battle from within. Eleanor and Elissa spared a look at each other before rushing inside.

_Look at me, rushing _in_ to battle._ Elissa couldn't help but smirk to herself.

The smirk died, however, when she saw the Cousland guards engaged in a pitched battle with Howe's forces. No one noticed their entrance. Eleanor quickly slipped behind a pillar and started firing while Elissa scrambled to find cover behind a table. Prince barked viciously and dove into the fray, taking down a soldier from behind.

_Good boy_, Elissa grinned to herself.

A flash of lightning struck several Cousland guards at once and they jerked backward, the smell of sulfur suddenly thick in Elissa's nostrils.

_A mage!_ There, by the front doors—a slight woman in blue robes holding a staff. Elissa ducked just in time to avoid another bolt of lightning.

Her heart thrummed in her chest. That mage was going to turn the tide for Howe's men if someone didn't do something fast. But what could she do? She was no mage, and could barely fight. Her archery training helped her win tournaments, but it left her woefully unprepared for the realities of live combat.

She peeked out behind the table. The mage seemed to have an aura around her, and none of the Cousland guards could get close. Elissa searched frantically for her mother, but she was on the other side of the hall now, actually fighting with her daggers —and holding her own!— against a man twice her size. In spite of her fear Elissa couldn't help the swell of pride she felt. She forced herself to trust that Eleanor could take care of herself for a few moments while she turned her attention back to the mage.

_Think!_ She stared at the mage again, and saw that the woman stood still, waving her arms in an intricate pattern—clearly preparing to cast something.

And then it hit her—the mage stood _still._

She could do this!

She cast her gaze around the hall before spotting what she needed: one of Howe's archers lay sprawled in front of a large fireplace. She dashed toward him, and then yanked the bow out of the corpse's hands before flipping the body over with her foot to get at the quiver at his back.

She heard a whooshing sound, and when she turned she saw a flash of light and smelled sulfur again. Two more Cousland guards went down.

Elissa hopped up on a nearby chair. It was risky, exposing herself like this, but she needed a good vantage point over the heads of the fighting men. She notched the arrow and took aim, closing one eye and sighting down the arrow.

She held her breath a second. She exhaled.

She let the arrow fly.

It flew, straight and true to the mage, landing directly in the woman's left eye. The woman's head jerked back, and then she fell over dead.

She felt elation, pure and simple. Maybe she was supposed to feel something else. She didn't care.

The guards cheered and rallied, and quickly dispatched the rest of Howe's men. Elissa ran to her mother just as Eleanor yanked her dagger out of the corpse in front of her.

And then Elissa heard _him_.

"Go! Man the gate! Keep those bastards out as long as you can!"

She turned to the voice. There in the center of the hall stood a handsome, red-haired knight.

She wanted to weep with relief. _Rory. _Their eyes caught and she saw what had to be a mirror of her own expression on his face.

"My lady! You're alive. I was certain Howe's men had gotten through!" His beautiful green eyes looked at her with open-hearted devotion.

Elissa couldn't stop the tears from falling. "Rory . . . I. . ."

"Shh," he said, walking toward her. He reached out to touch his hand to her chin. "It's alright—"

"Ser Gilmore!" Elissa's mother rushed toward them.

Rory looked up at the Teyrna and snapped his hand back "Your Ladyship! I'm so relieved you're both alive."

Elissa wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Who cared about decorum now? But that was Rory . . . honorable and chivalrous to the end.

Her mother was curt. "Have you seen the Teyrn?"

Rory nodded. "He was looking for you two. He told us to hold the hall as long as possible. When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates. But they won't keep Howe's men out long! If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

Eleanor nodded and turned to Elissa. "Let's _go_. We _must_ make it to the servant's entrance and escape."

Elissa turned back to Rory. The look he gave her filled her chest with dread. "Come on, Rory. You can see us out of the castle." She tried to make it sound like a command, but her nerves failed her and her voice cracked.

Rory stared at her sadly. He spared a glance at the Teyrna and then . . . then Rory stepped right up to her and reached up to brush his fingers against her cheek.

"If I do that, you won't make it out before the gates fall."

Overwhelmed by his boldness and the touch of his fingers on her cheek, the horror of his words didn't sink in for a few moments. But the look on his face was devastating. Finally she realized what he must have meant. She looked at him in horror. "No . . ."

Her mother put her hand on her arm. "Elissa, we must go _now_. . ."

She ignored her mother and searched Rory's face for some sign of hope, but she saw only grim determination there. And that other thing between them. "Rory, _no_."

She wanted to say something else but there was simply nothing she _could_ say. How could she sum up a lifetime of unfulfilled wishes and longing? How could she thank someone for _this?_

There was far, far too much to say.

"Elissa, I—" he started.

She didn't let him finish. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him for the first and last time, in front of her mother and everyone else. _Sod decorum. Sod everything._

He hesitated for one horrible moment, and Elissa had a wild fear that she'd imagined everything . . . but then he did respond—tentatively at first, but with growing passion. His lips were softer than she could have imagined. Why did she wait so long to do this? New waves of regret crashed into her and she couldn't stop herself from breaking the kiss with a sob. They had _already_ said goodbye once tonight . But now . . .

"Please," she whispered. "Please come with me."

"I can't," he whispered back, resting his forehead against hers. "I have a duty here. I will fulfill it."

Elissa tried to cling to him, but he gently removed her hands from his neck, not breaking eye contact as he removed himself from her grasp and took a step back.

She didn't have the strength to hold on. She knew she couldn't talk him out of this. She could only . . .

_You can only make this moment worse for him by falling apart now._

She knew the voice was right, but she didn't have it in her to fight the choking sobs that were rising in her chest. Maker, she was falling apart.

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," she heard her mother say. "Maker watch over you!"

Elissa wailed as her mother dragged her by the arm away from Rory. This was too much. _Too much._

"Maker watch over us all," she heard Rory say she was pulled along by her mother, too heartbroken to protest.

* * *

Elissa was out of plans—completely out of tricks. She couldn't think, wasn't even aware of what was going on around her anymore. She only knew pain, and loss and anger and overwhelming despair.

In such a short amount of time, she had lost _everything._

So she could only listen in muted horror as her father negotiated for their lives with the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden. It was all too absurd to be true. Maybe this was a nightmare after all—a perfectly vivid, terrible nightmare.

"I came to your castle seeking a recruit," Duncan said to her father. "The darkspawn threat demands that I leave with one."

Elissa had thought the man would demand money, or some other type of boon from the powerful Teyrn. But a recruit? They could offer that. Hope flickered dangerously in her heart. "Ser Gilmore! He's alive. We left him at the front gates. We can go back and get him—"

"There's no time for that!" her mother said, but Duncan raised his hands to cut off their argument.

"I'm not talking about Ser Gilmore, Elissa. I'm talking about _you_."

She was speechless. _Me? _ Elissa could only sit back on her heels and stare at him with her mouth agape.

Duncan gave her a small, knowing smile. "Truthfully, you were always my first choice."

_First choice?_ Elissa's eyes felt like they were going to bulge out of her skull. This was . . . completely unexpected.

Duncan turned back to Elissa's father. "I will take the Teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar, to tell Fergus and the king what happened. Then, your daughter joins the Grey Wardens."

Her father looked grim. "So long as justice comes to Howe . . . I agree."

Duncan turned to her. "Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us."

This couldn't be happening_. _Why in the world did he want her? She looked at her mother and father. Did he think she was some kind of warrior simply because she was a Cousland?

She opened her mouth to tell him no, he had to be mistaken, he didn't _really_ want someone who couldn't even fight as a recruit—but then she snapped her mouth shut. If the castle were surrounded, they would have little chance of escaping, even with Prince to fight for her. Duncan could get them out, but would he bother if he knew she wasn't Grey Warden material?

Her father coughed. "Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to . . . advance himself. Make him wrong, pup. See that justice is done! Our family . . . always does our duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and for Ferelden's."

Elissa's chest felt leaden. She had no choice. She was trapped. "I will, Father. For you."

He looked at her proudly.

"We must leave quickly, then," Duncan said. They all heard a loud crash in the distance. Howe's men were through the front doors.

Elissa choked out a sob. _Rory._

Eleanor reached out to her husband. "Bryce, are you . . . sure?

"Our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery. She will live, and make her mark on the world."

"Darling, go with Duncan," her mother said, keeping her eyes on her father's face. "You have a better chance to escape without me."

"Eleanor . . ."

Elissa's mouth gaped open again. Her mind wasn't reeling anymore—it had come to a screeching stop.

"Hush, Bryce. I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you."

"Mother! No!" Elissa screamed, finding her voice at last. "Please don't do this to me! I've lost everyone else . . . Mother, _please, _we can find can find another way. We can _fight_—"

"So we _all_ die?" Eleanor cut her off and grabbed her shoulders. She looked her daughter sternly. "_No_. Your place is now with the Grey Wardens. Mine is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond."

"But Mother, I _can't . . ."_

_"_Yes, you_ can._ You are smart and capable and you will get through this, you hear me?" She grabbed Elissa's chin again and gave her a smile, blinking back tears.

Elissa looked into her mother's proud, loving eyes. What could she do but agree? "Yes, mother."

"That is my darling girl."

She embraced her, trying to remember every detail—the smell of her scented hair mingled with her leather armor, the feel of her strong arms around her. She looked at her father and then reached out to him, giving him one last embrace as well, the three of them huddled on the stone floor.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. "They've broken through the gates. We must leave _now_," Duncan said.

It hurt to leave her parents' embrace. She slid out of their grasp and then stood.

Prince whined at her. She placed a hand on his head and then turned to follow Duncan out the exit.

She couldn't stop herself from looking back one last time to see her mother kneeling, holding her father's head in her hands. She tried to burn the image into her mind. She wanted to remember this moment forever. She wanted to honor their sacrifice by searing it into her very soul.

Her father looked up and met her gaze.

"Go, pup," he said with that impossible gentleness of his. "Warn your brother. And know that we love you both. You do us proud."

"Good bye, darling," her mother said.

"I love you both, so much," she choked out, before turning and following Duncan into the unknown darkness of her future.


	3. Blame

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 3: Blame_

_She can't see the landscape anymore  
__It's all painted in her grief  
__All of her history etched out at her feet  
_Landscape — Florence + the Machine_  
_

She would little remember the details of her flight from Highever with Duncan in later days. When she thought back on her time spent marching after him for hours upon hours, crying all the while, she'd remember how her legs ached, how uncomfortable she was in her heavy dress and chain mail and how her arm throbbed in pain with every step.

But where they went? What she saw? She didn't know. She followed Duncan. She saw nothing. Nothing mattered.

All she did was feel—an enormity of pain beyond any misery she had ever experienced or imagined. Unlike other times in her life when tears had proved cathartic, now they simply replenished themselves with every wail. Her grief was an endless well inside her, and no matter how much she cried she couldn't rid herself of the aching sadness that permeated her every waking hour.

Thankfully the pace Duncan set afforded her nights of unbroken sleep. Only in sleep and during the few seconds at the start of each day when she would wake bleary eyed and confused did she have any relief from the constant misery. Every morning it was just the same. She would envy the person she'd been just a few moments before because now she was a person that remembered, and the memories only restarted the pain.

When the sharpness of her agony dulled from overexposure to the horrifying images she replayed in her mind every second she was awake (Oren's broken little body, Rory's sad eyes, her father's blood on the pantry floor) she turned to torturing herself with details from the day leading up to the attack.

Details she had missed.

No, not missed—_ignored_. That was even worse.

She chastised herself for not connecting the shifty stares of Howe's guards with the Arl's flimsy excuse for tardiness. He hadn't even really offered one, she remembered bitterly. And that should have sparked her curiosity.

Guilt—now that was a weapon sharper than any sadness. She wielded it against herself ruthlessly as she followed Duncan across the bannorn. By the time he mentioned that they would arrive at Ostagar on the following day, Elissa had thoroughly traced the web of clues that _should _have given her ample warning that a betrayal was imminent. She could have stopped it, if she had been paying attention.

But Duncan's announcement provided a nugget for another line of inquiry, and finally tired with the painfully circuitous route of her thoughts, she decided to follow it.

It led nowhere pleasant.

_Ostagar_.

She would have to see Fergus. And tell him . . ._no_. Elissa couldn't bring herself to think about _that_. It would only lead to more weeping, she was sure of it.

And then she remembered the other thing that had started to gnaw at the edges of her consciousness—that other promise she had made. The Grey Wardens: they were expecting her to become one. This was an attractive puzzle to solve because she could think about it disinterestedly. It only involved her future, after all. And what did she care about that?

She wondered what Duncan would do when he found out she was no warrior. Perhaps he would be angry? This line of thinking proved intriguing enough that Elissa felt something closer to normal while she thought about it. She found herself imagining all sorts of reactions from Duncan at the news.

Perhaps he would simply kill her, she mused. The thought didn't scare her like it should have. In fact, there was a part of her that felt a shameful longing at the prospect. She would be released if that happened—released from her pain, her guilt.

But she couldn't long for it in earnest. Not because she didn't think Duncan capable of it—she thought _everyone_ capable of it, now. And not because she didn't think she deserved it. The deal was her life for her service. If she couldn't serve, she really didn't deserve her life.

No, she couldn't long for it in earnest because that would mean that Fergus would be truly alone. She knew now something that she would have never guessed a few days ago: dying was easy. It was being left behind that was hard.

But she didn't want to think about Fergus. So she abandoned the idea and moved on to other possibilities. She thought he might continue to escort her to Ostagar, where she could make some other arrangement or deal to repay him. Perhaps Fergus had enough coin on him to reward the warden for rescuing her. She thought that fairly likely.

Elissa frowned to herself. _Unless . . .?_ There was another intriguing possibility, and finally after a long day of pondering, the mystery drove her to speak.

"Duncan," she croaked. "We need to speak."

It was the first sentence she had uttered in days, but if Duncan was surprised by her sudden speech, he didn't show it. He looked up at her placidly before turning back to the small campfire he tended, stoking it with a stick.

"Yes?"

She didn't have it within her to provide much polite preamble. "I don't know how to fight."

She waited for him to respond, but he didn't. Just merely raised his eyebrows and looked at her expectantly.

She frowned at him. "Do you understand? I'm not a warrior. I'm not sure what you've heard or what you expected of me but . . . that's not who I am."

Duncan sat back against a tree log, with his hands on his knees. The light was fading and the firelight cast his face in shadows. Elissa couldn't read his expression. "I see."

She realized that she should probably offer more explanation, but just the thought of it exhausted her. "I'm sorry," was all she managed to mumble.

Duncan watched her in silence for a moment that seemed to stretch on and on. Finally, he spoke.

"There is no need to apologize. This changes nothing. You will go to Ostagar and become a Grey Warden."

Elissa stared at Duncan in surprise. He just gazed into the fire, face inscrutable.

"You know about me." It was a statement, not a question.

"If by that you mean that I know you're no warrior, yes."

"No, that is _not_ what I mean."

Duncan looked up in surprise at her tone, and then a small smile started to grace his face. He slowly put his hands together under his chin. "Ahh. You mean do I know about your mind—"

Elissa snorted derisively. "Being smart doesn't help you kill darkspawn."

"I think that could be argued."

"You're going to get me killed." She said it as a matter-of-fact, not feeling invested either way.

"How many men did you kill that night at the castle?"

Elissa shook her head and looked off into the distance. "That doesn't count."

"Why not?"

She gave an exasperated sigh and turned back to look at Duncan. "I got _lucky—"_

"How many?"

"I don't know. I lost count."

He nodded at her in the darkness. "You have a brilliant mind, Elissa. You're ingenious and clever and clearly resourceful. With little to no combat training you managed to fight your way through a castle full of hostile forces, and you did not hesitate to kill when it meant your life."

She felt suddenly sick to her stomach, feeling the soldier's eyes give way to her fingers all over again. "I'm not cut out for this," she said softly.

"How many days have we been traveling now?"

"I have no idea." She literally did not. It could have been two. It could have been twelve.

"Five days now," Duncan supplied, holding up one hand with his fingers spread. "And in that time, we have kept to a _merciless_ pace. I don't think there are many civilians who could have kept up with the march we've been on and yet you've done it all with no complaints."

Elissa raised her eyebrows at that. Apparently all that running with Prince had paid off. Still, she was loathe to admit it to Duncan. "A lady doesn't complain—"

Duncan waved aside her retort. "The fact that you did it at all is what is remarkable. I have little doubt that you will adapt quite well to the life of a Grey Warden." He leaned forward then, and the light of the fire illuminated a sympathetic expression. "I know that it may not seem like it now, but in time, you may even begin to find it a life worth living."

She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. The thought of a life worth living . . . that was so far beyond anything she felt capable of—certainly beyond anything she _deserved_—the idea of it only brought back the sadness of all that she had lost, and it was worse now for having left her for a time.

Why did she care? She didn't. It didn't matter. She would probably die to the first darkspawn that she fought, and that would be fine.

She curled into a ball on the ground and tried to sleep.

* * *

Sleep had come easily, as it did every night on her journey so far, but this night she woke while it was still dark. Duncan sat by the fire, but the embers didn't give enough light for her to tell whether he slept or not. She wasn't sure that he slept at all on their journey. She hadn't seen it.

She shifted to her side, drawing her knees up to her chest and her arm around her legs and staring at the still form of Duncan.

_Truthfully you were always my first choice._

Elissa's brow knit together into a frown. She had been so focused on whether he knew about her combat ability. She'd never thought to ask the most obvious question of all: why?

Why was she not just Grey Warden material, but his _first_ choice?

The Wardens had been fighting darkspawn for centuries. Elissa was pretty sure they knew how to do it by now. So what did Duncan need her big brain for anyway?

She lay there, staring into the orange coals for a long while.

The real reasons for her recruitment were still a mystery to her, and that proved somewhat interesting. She supposed she'd have to endeavor to stay alive long enough to figure it out.

Once she decided that, sleep came easily and she did not wake until the next day dawned.

* * *

_Author's note: Thank you to all who have read and reviewed so far. I promise the chapters will not continue to get shorter. The next one is quite long. -C_


	4. Question

_Author's note: I've updated this chapter since first publishing it, to include a few scenes before the one in the merchant's stall. I'm not really certain why I cut the first scene between Alistair and Elissa initially, but after revisiting it I realized I really wanted that scene back in. So this chapter has been tweaked a tiny bit. Hope you enjoy._

* * *

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 4: Questions_

_. . . I think I know  
__another lonely exile when I see one  
__and you appear to be one__  
_

– Ray, Aimee Mann

_The problem with being a messenger for humans is that you can't tell them apart,_ Pick thought as he glided through the camp. The fact that they were all wearing similar looking armor certainly didn't make it any easier.

He spotted a Chantry symbol on the shield of a man standing by the merchant stall and skidded to a halt on the dirt path.

_The warden._

He hesitated only a second before dashing over. He really, really, needed to get the stupid sword delivered to Ser Galvin, but he had an equally important message to deliver.

"Hey . . . _you_," he called when he got close, mentally cursing himself for forgetting the human's name. He needed to get better at that if he was going to make it as a court messenger.

The blonde man turned away from his conversation with the two other men and looked at him. "Pick!" he said with a grin, making him feel worse for forgetting the human's name.

"Gotta message for you from your Commander," Pick said.

The warden's eyebrows shot up. "Duncan's back?"

Pick nodded quickly, eager to get on with it. "Yeah, he's back, and he wants you to be on the lookout for his new recruit."

He turned on his heel to go, but the human warden called after him.

"Wait a minute! How am I supposed to look out for him? What's his name?" he said with a note of exasperation.

"Not a he, _she_," he said. "You'll know her when you see her, _trust_ me." With a smirk he turned to leave again.

"_Wait_," the warden said, reaching out and stopping him by grabbing his arm. "Can you at least give me a name?" One of the men he'd been talking with gave a little snort of laughter.

Pick scowled at the man in leathers. "Eliza," he spat out. "Cousline."

At that the warden's eyes went wide. "You mean Cousland?"

Pick hopped from one leg to the other, anxious to get on with his task. "Yeah, whatever. Cousland. Can I go?"

The warden looked at him with his mouth agape. "Is there anything else? What did Duncan want me to do? Why did he recruit a _Cousland_?"

Pick shrugged. "Probably something on account of Highever being attacked."

The doughy looking man to the left of the warden gasped loudly. "Highever's been attacked?" he almost shouted, taking two steps toward the elf. "By who? Tell me at once!"

Pick took a step back and raised his arms. "Easy!" he squeaked out. Thankfully the blonde warden put a hand on the angry man's shoulder to settle him down. "Not Highever proper," he amended. "Just the castle. By Arl Who."

"_Who_?" the warden said incredulously. "You don't mean . . . you don't mean by Arl Howe do you?"

"Oh yeah, that's it!" Pick said, snapping his fingers. "I knew it was something like that. Who or what or how."

He felt a blush start to creep furiously up his cheeks as the three men stared at him in silent shock.

Finally, the brown-haired man with the scruffy beard gave a barking laugh. "You have got to be the _worst_ messenger I have ever seen."

Pick scowled. "I'm just not good with names," he snapped. He turned to the warden. "Can I go?"

The warden still looked to be in shock at Pick's news. "Yeah, sure," he said with an absentminded wave, before turning back to the other men.

Pick let out a sigh of relief and raced away, hoping he could find Ser Galvin and finally get rid of this blasted sword.

_That was all there was to tell, wasn't it?_ Pick felt like there was something on the edge of his memory that he was supposed to remember. It was just too hard, keeping all the messages in his head for people. He really should start writing things down.

_Maker_, maybe he really was a terrible messenger.

* * *

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

Alistair turned to face the figure that had wandered up to him while he argued with the pissy mage. His mouth fell open involuntarily when he got a good look.

It was a girl—a girl with dark eyebrows pulled into a frown over large emerald green eyes. A girl with long, blonde hair tied into a ragged braid that draped over one shoulder. A girl who wore a shiny chain mail vest over what appeared to be a rather abused but fancy green _ball gown._

His shock wasn't helped at all when she spoke. "Your Templar abilities—can you teach them to others?" she asked, speaking with the refined accent of a highborn woman.

He did a literal double take. "I'm sorry. What? How did you—"

She interrupted him with an impatient gesture of her hand. "Your shield bears the crest of the Chantry does it not? You used to be a Templar."

"Used to?" Alistair hadn't thought his eyebrows could climb any higher on his head.

She shrugged and a faint smile graced her lips. The one working part of his brain registered that she was really kind of pretty. "If you were still a Templar I doubt the mage would have dared to be quite so insolent."

Alistair looked to where the mage had left, and then back at the girl in front of him. He felt himself start to smile in return. "Alright, what next? Are you going to guess my birth date and weight?" He frowned and crossed his arms across his chest. "I hope you don't make me feel fat."

Whatever had passed for a smile on her face fled at his attempt at humor. She frowned and looked away, as if trying to reign in her temper, before looking back at him and saying, "so can you or can't you?"

Alistair could only blink at her mutely for a few seconds. "Can I . . .?"

She gave an impatient huff and actually stamped her foot. "Can you train others to be a Templar or can't you?"

"Oh right," he said, not sure whether to laugh or be offended at the girl's weird impatience with him. "Um, how about we start off with . . ." He was going to say 'who you are' but his lips froze in place as he gave her a once over again, putting a bunch of pieces together at once. The state of her dress, her noble bearing: she could only be one person. "Wait a minute. I do know who you are. You're Duncan's new recruit, from Highever, aren't you?"

She froze then and could only nod slightly, casting her gaze downward.

Alistair's mouth suddenly went very dry. This woman he had been teasing just a second before suddenly became a figure of tragedy. _Maker_, did he really say the Blight brought people together? To the girl who might have lost her entire family?

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling the blood drain from his face. "I should have recognized you straight away."

At that the woman finally met his gaze again, before looking away and giving a small shrug, as if to suggest that she agreed that he was an idiot. "Elissa," she said, inclining her head ever so slightly. "You are Ser Alistair then? Of the Grey Wardens?"

"Just Alistair," he said quietly. Her eyes snapped back to his and he saw her brow wrinkle slightly as she seemed to reappraise him. "As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining."

She didn't answer for a long moment, just continued to stare at him until he was just about to fill the silence with some babbling or other, when she finally narrowed her eyes and said, "Orphan or bastard?"

Alistair felt his mouth start to gape open again so he snapped it shut, trying not to show how much the girl was starting to get under his skin. "What?"

She bit her lip and looked him up and down. "I suppose you could be an orphan but I'm thinking … bastard."

His reaction was telling, he was certain, but he couldn't stop himself from starting when she came to her conclusion. He tried to shake it off with a joke. "You know usually people get to know me just a _little_ bit better before they start in with the insults."

He immediately regretted it when he saw her face flush. "I don't mean that kind of—" she started, but then stopped and rolled her eyes. "You _know_ what I mean."

Alistair took a deep breath and finally felt a bit recovered from the shock of meeting this girl and hearing her weird questions. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, giving a shrug. "And I guess it's no big secret. You're correct. I was trained as a Templar before Duncan recruited me about six months ago. And yes, I'm a bastard." He stopped when he noticed her take a rather deep and exasperated sigh.

"Can you," she spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child or a particularly dim-witted adult, "teach your Templar skills to others or _not_?"

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at the girl with his mouth open, trying to figure out if he wanted to laugh or get mad, but when he realized what he was doing he snapped it shut. "No," he said simply, in the end. He was surprised at the intensity of her disappointment. Her face fell and he saw in an instant the deep misery residing in those emerald eyes of hers, and felt a little guilty. "I mean," he went on. "I made a vow not to, when I left the Chantry."

The misery was replaced quickly with curiosity. "So your abilities _can_ be taught to others then? I mean, it's not something you have to be born to?"

"No not at all," he said. "But it takes time . . . usually only those who have trained as warriors for a few years are able to master the techniques."

Again her face fell, but she recovered quickly and looked around. "Very well," she said, turning oddly formal. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Do you know where a lady might go to find supplies here?"

"Sure," he said, feeling relieved. "That I can do."

* * *

"Here, hold this."

Alistair reached out to collect the vial. "What is it?"

Elissa shrugged and turned back to the chest in front of her. She was on her knees, rummaging through it in a little dark corner of the merchant's stall. "I'm not sure. But if it's what I think it is . . ." She turned back and gave him a pointed look. ". . . _don't_ drop it."

Alistair eyed the little vial suspiciously. He could see a thick, amber substance inside it. The vial had a metal wire wrapped around its circumference. "Why? What will happen if I drop it?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "It will explode. Into fire."

Alistair's eyebrow shot up and he held the vial more delicately. He shifted his weight and tried to balance everything he was holding in his right arm, so he could hold the little vial in his left hand . . . away from his body.

Elissa ignored his obvious discomfort and went back to rummaging through the trunk.

The second they'd arrived at the merchant's stall, Elissa had divested herself of her armor and weapon. She'd given the chainmail chest piece to the merchant for him to inspect while she picked out items for trade. She'd also shoved her sword and shield into Alistair's hands for safekeeping while she rifled through the merchant's wares, her mabari watching him guardedly all the while.

Alistair sighed and resumed trying to stand there in a way that didn't exude "errand boy." He tried not to think about the dangerous vial in his hand. Instead, he turned to watch Elissa. Now that her attention was on the chest in front of her he could get a good look at her without risking her ire or—even worse—her curiosity.

He let his gaze wander down the small figure in green before him. Her velvet skirt was fanned out behind her in a semi-circle. He cocked his head to the side as he noticed a brown stain that ran along the bottom inch or so of the entire skirt. The material bunched under her, but from his vantage point beside her he could see that the stain seemed to climb almost up to her knees at the front of the skirt.

_It's like she knelt in some mud or . . . _Alistair's eyes widened as he looked closer at the stain. It wasn't brown like he'd first thought. It was rust colored. It was the color of dried blood.

_She knelt in a pool of blood._

He opened his mouth to speak but just as he did the giant mabari growled low in his throat. He turned to see the beast staring pointedly at him, as if the hound had noticed Alistair's inspection and deemed it offensive.

"I'm just _standing_ here," he said to the dog. "I'm not doing anything!"

Elissa rested an elbow on the side of the chest and looked at the two of them over her shoulder. "Prince," she said in a firm tone. "Leave Alistair be. He's . . ." she turned to stare at him from under those dark eyebrows of hers, "a friend."

Prince gave Elissa a _look_ and if Alistair didn't know better, he'd say it was a skeptical one. But nevertheless, the dog did stop growling at him and sat back on his haunches. He still kept his eyes on him, however.

Alistair shook his head and turned back to Elissa, and then gulped.

She was staring at him again. Which wouldn't on its own be cause for concern, but when Elissa looked at him like that, strange questions seemed to follow.

"Is Duncan dying?" she said, head tilted to the side.

Like _that_.

His mouth gaped open. "What? How . . . Why would you even ask that?"

Elissa raised her eyebrows and looked at him coolly. "That wasn't a denial."

Involuntarily an enormous sigh escaped him. "Look, I can't . . . he's not . . . it's not that simple."

"And _that_ was most emphatically not a _no_."

Alistair's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I can't tell you anything—"

"Let me guess, you can tell me more after _the Joining_."

"Yes. That's right."

She gave a little "hmm," and then turned back to the chest in front of her.

The sigh of relief that escaped him was audible as well, but she paid him no mind.

_Maker_, did she have a lot of questions—not just about him, but also about the Grey Wardens, the darkspawn, the Blight, Duncan, the other recruits . . . it was getting a little exhausting.

It's not that he minded being asked questions—of course he had expected that from the moment Duncan told him about the tradition of the least senior warden being the one to mentor and guide new recruits. He'd been looking forward to it. He had imagined they might look up to him, as someone who had so recently been through what they were now experiencing.

And that's how it had been when he met Daveth and Jory, at least. Sure, they'd asked their fair share of questions, and they seemed understandably nervous at the prospect of what, to them, was still a mysterious ritual.

But Elissa's questions were different. They seemed almost random, and he never understood how she just seemed to _know_ certain things, without anyone telling her. The whole thing had left him feeling rather . . . _exposed._

But worse than _that_ were the questions she asked about the Wardens and the Blight. Actually, it wasn't her questions—it was how she reacted when he responded. He couldn't help feeling that his answers were somehow _wrong_, even though everything he told her was true.

Elissa made a little noise and then held up a woman's leather chest piece, examining it with a steady frown. She ran a hand down the front of it and then held it closer to her face, sticking her finger through a tiny hole in the side.

Her face paled. "This looks like an arrow hole. I think this armor might belong . . . might be . . ."

"Um, used?" he provided.

Her eyes grew wide. She looked around the merchant stall as if she'd only just realized where she was.

"Right," she said uncertainly, before forcefully shaking her head and shoving the armor under her arm. She grabbed the other items and stood.

"Here hold these," she said, shoving the leather armor into his arms and making him jostle the vial.

"Careful!" he said with a rather embarrassing amount of nervousness as he gently rearranged everything in his arms, trying to move the vial as little as possible.

Elissa snatched the vial out of his hands. "It's not designed to break that easily," she said, holding it up. "It's only designed to break on impact—from being thrown with some force. A minor knock isn't going to set it off. That wouldn't be very practical. See?" She knocked the vial lightly twice on the wooden shield Alistair carried.

His heart leapt to his throat with each knock and he couldn't keep from gasping. "Can you _not_ do that again? Please?"

Her lips curled ever so slightly into a smile, and for a moment he thought she was going to retort with a joke. But then she seemed to catch herself and frowned instead, turning away in a huff.

Alistair shook his head and followed her. He had thought for a second that she just might have a sense of humor after all. Apparently not.

A black curtain hung in a dark corner of the "shop." Elissa reached out to sweep it aside and revealed a number of shelves lining the wall. Alistair saw vials containing bright red and blue liquids, as well as other opaque bottles, loose herbs sticking out of tin cups, and various odds and ends that he didn't recognize. He stepped closer when his eye caught a few gold, shiny pieces of metal.

They were piled loosely at the edge of the bottom shelf. Square in shape, the metal pieces looked like they'd had an image of something stamped on them. Alistair leaned forward, completely captivated by the shiny gold pieces. A sudden and almost overwhelming urge to grab them and shove them into his pocked almost overcame him. He was dimly aware of Elissa at his side, but still he practically jumped out of his skin when she reached out to grab one of the shiny objects.

"Ahh, glamour charms," Elissa said. And just like that, the little pieces of metal lost their appeal, and Alistair shook his head, wondering what he found so irresistible about them in the first place.

"That's . . . odd."

She looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Once you know what they are the attraction spell is broken," she explained.

"What do you use them for?" he asked, as she added a handful to the stash of bottles and herbs she carried in her arms.

"Things," she said with a frown, before walking back toward the merchant.

Alistair rolled his eyes at her back. For as much as she had pestered him with questions, she answered few of her own. And when she did, the answers didn't illuminate much. "Oh of course," he said, turning to follow her. "Things!"

The merchant took one look at all the goods Alistair and Elissa carried and his eyes grew wide, clearly excited at the impending sale.

Elissa dumped all that she carried on the table in front of them, and Alistair carefully added the little amber vial next to them and then set down the leather pants, boots and chest piece he had tucked under his arm.

The merchant rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"I think this will do."

"Great! Let me see how much you owe—"

"Owe?"

The shopkeeper turned back to Elissa with a look of incredulity. "Yes, owe. You didn't think you could trade one measly piece of armor for all this did you?"

Elissa gestured at the chainmail piece in the shopkeeper's hands. "_That_ vest was crafted by an Orlesian master blacksmith—it's _silverite_. My father paid a fortune for it_." S_he swept a hand dismissively over the pile of goods she had selected on the table. "These items were clearly scavenged from somewhere, at little cost to you." She held up the leather chest piece. "Look! This piece even has a hole in it!"

The shopkeeper raised his hands in protest. "I can't trade _all_ of this for one measly chainmail vest! I don't care how much you claim its worth—I'll never sell it for that much out here."

Elissa crossed her arms and then looked down at herself. Inspiration flashed over her face and she looked at the merchant with a little smile. She moved around the small table. "What about this?" she said, waving grandly at the velvet gown she was wearing.

The merchant's mouth gaped open. "What do I want with your dress?" He pointed at the bottom of her skirts. "It's all burnt and stained and besides, who am I going to sell a dress to in a war camp?"

"Not the _dress_," Elissa chided. "The _fabric._ Look at this." She held her arm up in front of the merchant's face and ran her other hand over her forearm. "This is crushed velvet from Orlais—it's _very_ expensive." Her expression softened and she looked at the merchant with a smile. "Imagine what your wife could make with it," she said slyly. "She'd be ever so pleased—"

"Sorry, lady," the merchant said, shaking his head. "You're barking up the wrong tree there. I'm not married."

Elissa's expression snapped back into anger, and she gave a growl of frustration. Her hound must've sensed her irritation, because the giant beast stepped up beside her and added his own growl, staring at the shopkeeper intently.

The shopkeeper's eyes grew wide and he took a step backward. "Now wait just a minute—"

"Prince, that's enough." She rested her hand on the mabari's enormous head and the beast stopped growling, and looked up at her inquisitively. "We're not going to _intimidate_ this man into making a deal he doesn't want to." She looked at the merchant and then looked at her feet sullenly. "Even though we totally _could_," she muttered under her breath.

The merchant rubbed his neck. "I'm a reasonable man." He eyed the hound nervously. "Do you have _anything _else to trade?"

Elissa turned and looked at the shield and sword Alistair was still carrying. She bit her lower lip and her brow creased into a frown. It wasn't just agitation on her face—her expression housed a mixture of emotions Alistair couldn't quite read. Finally she gave a deep sigh and stepped up to Alistair.

She reached out and took the shield from his hands. He watched as she lovingly ran a hand over the sigil on the front. He had recognized the symbol as belonging to House Cousland, but the way Elissa looked at it now, he got a sinking feeling it wasn't an ordinary guard's shield he'd been carrying for her. Finally she turned back to the merchant.

"Fine," she said, walking over to him holding the shield in front of her by the sides. She stood in front of the merchant staring down at the shield in her hands. "This shield has been in my family for over _four hundred _years. It is worth more than all the goods in your stall combined," she said, before looking up at the merchant with a hard expression her face. "I will trade you this shield, but when my brother returns from scouting the woods, he will buy it back from you. Understood?"

"Oh, your _brother_ has all the money does he?" the merchant said with a sneer. "Yeah, I've never heard _that one_ before."

At his words Elissa flushed, and gathered herself up to stand stiffly and properly in front of him. "My _brother_ happens to be the Teyrn of Highever," she said. Her eyes were glassy and she blinked rapidly as she stared at the man in front of her.

Alistair had started to suspect as much, but this confirmed it. She called her brother _Teyrn_, which meant . . . her father was dead. Alistair felt a rush of sympathy for the poor girl.

The merchant looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. "Teyrn?" he said doubtfully.

"It's true," Alistair said, and both Elissa and the merchant turned to look at him. "My Commander just came from Highever with her." He nodded in Elissa's direction. "Her brother is the Teyrn."

Something akin to gratitude flitted across Elissa's face, and while the merchant kept his eyes on Alistair, she furtively wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, before mouthing "thank you" to him. He gave her a tight smile.

The merchant turned back to Elissa and seemed to reappraise her at that. Alistair could practically _hear_ the man adding up the coins he had the potential to earn off of this obviously highborn noble woman. Still, he gave a grumbling nod, as if he felt cheated.

"Alright, _fine._ You have a deal."

* * *

"You speak highly of Duncan."

Alistair looked at Elissa. She'd grown more serious since she'd emerged from the merchant stall, picking uncomfortably at the leather armor she wore. He was leading her and the mabari back to the Warden's campfire.

He gave a small shrug. "I spent years in the Chantry, hopelessly resigned to my fate. Duncan was the first person who cared what I wanted." He smiled at the memory of the grand cleric's jowls jiggling in anger as Duncan informed her what was going to happen. "He risked a lot of trouble with the grand cleric to help me."

Elissa was quiet for a moment. When he looked down at her, he saw her looking back at him with another of her appraising looks. "He must've thought you'd be useful."

Alistair's cheek flushed in sudden irritation and he turned back to scowl at the ground at his feet. "Or _maybe_ he just happens to be a good man."

He'd walked a couple of paces before he realized that she had stopped. When he looked back he saw her looking at _him_ with a matching expression of anger.

"It's possible that _both_ are true, you know," she spit at him. "Do you _really_ think he only recruited you out of compassion?"

It was his turn to cross his arms. "I didn't say that—"

"So why are you offended? Do you have some problem with being considered _useful_?"

The way she said 'useful' rankled him. That's how nobles thought of people, he realized—as either useful to them or not. He didn't like thinking of Duncan's kindness to him in those terms.

"No, but you make it sound so calculated—"

"So?" she almost yelled at him. Alistair saw some heads turn around them to stare at their heated discussion. "Is it so impossible to believe he could be both calculating and compassionate?"

His irritation waned in the face of her obvious agitation and the spectacle they were making. "Alright," he said raising his hands. "I suppose that's true. Let's just . . . move on." He turned to resume their walk back to camp.

"No, wait a minute," she said, reaching out to stop him. He turned in surprise at the unexpected contact. She stared up at him intently and her expression seemed almost manic. "Why do you think I was recruited?"

His eyes widened. He had specifically avoided asking too many questions because. . . well he was pretty sure what happened to her was downright terrible, and he hadn't wanted to risk upsetting her.

"I thought . . ." he stammered. "Duncan rescued you."

She angrily shook her head. "Really Alistair, if I had been one of those noble ladies who never bothered learning arms or combat . . ." She stared fixedly at him, and her next words seemed quite deliberate. ". . . do you think Duncan would have still recruited me into the Grey Wardens?"

He blinked in the face of her stare. "I . . . well, probably not."

She searched his face for a few more seconds, before releasing his arm with a sigh and shaking her head. "Exactly," she muttered to herself.

"But still," Alistair said heatedly. "I'm sure he would have helped you if he could. He's a _good_ man, and he wouldn't have just left you there to die."

She looked at him now as if she had no idea what he was talking about. "What? Oh, yes. I suppose," she said distractedly.

Alistair frowned in confusion. "Isn't that the point you were making? That just because he found you useful didn't mean he wouldn't still do the right thing if he could?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, sure." With that Elissa turned and resumed walking toward the Warden campfire.

Alistair frowned at her back, feeling all sorts of mixed emotions after the strange conversation. With a heavy sigh he made to follow her, relieved at the thought that she would at least be able to aim all her questions at Duncan for the immediate future.

He was rather sick of them, himself.


	5. Fear

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 5: Fear_

_Do you ever have that dream,__  
__when you open your mouth and you try to scream,__  
__but you can't make a sound?_

_That's every day starting now.__  
__That's every day starting now.  
_—_Wish I May, _Ani Difranco_  
_

"You know, I couldn't help noticing the look on your pretty face when Duncan said we were heading off into the Wilds."

"Oh really?" Elissa glanced at the recruit walking next to her. Daveth's scruffy face was smug as he glided through the forest on expert feet.

"That's right. And I just want you to know, you have no reason to be frightened—"

"I am _not_ frightened," Elissa said, raising her eyebrows and keeping her voice even as she narrowly avoided tripping over another root.

It was a complete lie, of course. She had been terrified from the moment she discovered that Duncan planned to send them into the Wilds to fight darkspawn.

"Of course not!" he said easily. "And you needn't be, because if you watch my back . . . " he leaned in and raised an eyebrow at her, letting his gaze travel up and down her form " . . . I'll watch _yours_."

"You can keep your eyes and your hands to yourself, _thief_." Elissa's lips almost quirked into a smile at the look of surprise her words elicited from him.

He jerked his head at the Warden who was walking ahead of them. "Been talking me up, eh mate?"

Alistair looked back at them with a wry smile. For a moment, her eyes met his, and she saw a hint of knowing amusement lurking there. She looked away. "I didn't tell her a thing," she heard him say.

The thief raised an eyebrow at Elissa. "So, Duncan told you then."

Elissa met his gaze evenly. "No. You did. When we were introduced."

Daveth cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah," he said, drawing out the word. "I think I would remember _that._"

"And yet you did just the same," she said coming to a stop and putting her hand on her hip. The rest of the party stopped too, and Elissa could see that Alistair and Jory watched them both intently. "When most men leer their eyes do not linger on a woman's," she paused for dramatic effect. ". . . _coin purse_," she finished with a pointed glare.

That earned her a bark of a laugh from the thief, and a chuckle of amusement from the others.

"Alright, lucky guess," Daveth said good-naturedly.

A thrill coursed through her in anticipation of the moment to come. She cocked her head to the side. "Tell me, did you run away from home or were you kicked out?" she asked with a sudden, serious frown.

Daveth blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"Your home? You left it when you were still quite young."

"I . . . yeah," he said after a moment. "My old man was a little too free with his fists. Left as soon as I could."

She paused at the look that passed over Daveth's face. She felt a twinge of guilt for bringing up such painful memories, but it had been too obvious a guess to pass up. A guy like Daveth didn't turn to crime because he had better options.

"You grew up around here. Some low lying tiny village filled with farmers and a couple of shops, am I right?" At his incredulous look she went on, taking his silence as confirmation. "Of course, there's really only one place in Ferelden for a pickpocket to have any kind of success, so you wound up in Denerim, didn't you?"

The thief raised his hands in surrender. "I give up. How are you doing this?"

"Simple observations, really."

"I don't believe you. Duncan must've told you—"

"You move far too gracefully through these woods to have been brought up in a city. And your accent—it's faded a bit since you've moved to Denerim but I can still hear a bit of the Chasind influence in its undertones. As for your occupation-you're right, it wasn't just the fake leering that gave you away—"

"Oh no! The leering was all real I assure you."

She rolled her eyes and kept going. "Your _armor_ also gives you away. Your gloves and boots are expensive while the rest of your equipment is second rate at best. What occupation but a thief needs to have nimble fingers and quiet feet?"

He stared at her in admiration. "That's kind of amazing."

It was hard not to smile as they resumed their walk through the wilds. The warmth of satisfaction that flowed through her was intoxicating—or as close to it as she had ever felt. Elissa had never given into that particular indulgence, so she really didn't know, but she had to assume it must be something like the heady thrill that went through her when she saw that _look_ on someone's face.

It was the look of someone realizing in an instant that they had grossly underestimated her.

She had learned to savor moments such as this in her short life, and she parceled them out sparingly. For as much as she was smart, Elissa was also practical. It served her well to keep her talents hidden.

Now though, things were different. For the first time Elissa had the uncomfortable and unfamiliar sensation of self-doubt. It was not a feeling she relished, but she supposed it could not be avoided. She was a young noblewoman expected to turn into a soldier, and she had no idea how.

And, it appeared Duncan had no interest in providing her any training before throwing her into the thick of battle. He treated her as if she were any other warden recruit. When she'd questioned his decision to send them into the Wilds he'd just looked at her evenly. "You weren't recruited out of _charity_," he had said, letting a hint of sternness seep into his voice. "All three of you are skilled and resourceful."

She understood immediately that she could expect no special treatment from the Wardens due to her inexperience. It was left to her then, to figure out how to survive.

"Don't feel bad, Daveth. She did the same thing to me when we met," Alistair said, giving her a look before turning and resuming his walk through the wilds. She frowned at his back, unsure how to interpret it.

"Alright, so what about him?"

Elissa stared at Daveth a moment before realizing he was referring to Ser Jory. She hesitated, but . . . once again she could not resist eliciting that look even if it wasn't entirely deserved in this case.

Ser Jory had turned at Daveth's question, a look of bemused anticipation on his face. "Yes. What do you know about me?"

"You are a knight, originally from Redcliffe but now from Highever," she said, proud of the fact that she was able to say _Highever_ without choking. "Duncan recruited you because you won the Grand Melee in the Bann of Highever's tournament."

Jory stared at her in wonder. "How could you _possibly_ know all that?"

"Easy," she said. "I was there."

The three of them chuckled and she almost joined them in it in spite of herself. They had believed for a moment that she figured that out on her own. That was good. That meant they were seeing her how she wanted them to see her.

It was a start.

Jory blinked at her and a look of recognition flitted over his face. "Wait, I do remember you! You. . . you wore the favor of a knight from Castle Cousland, didn't you? Ser . . . Roland Gilmore? I believe that was his name." He nodded at her, smiling brightly.

Hot tears sprung to her eyes and she looked down and away, unable to meet the gazes of the three men who were now staring at her.

_Stupid, stupid._

She'd gotten so caught up in her little games, she hadn't even thought of the possibility of him recognizing _her_.

They were still looking at her, she felt, as they continued to walk together, and her silence in response to Jory's question stretched out in a longer and longer awkward moment. There was nothing she could do about it, she realized thickly, her mind was a haze of sadness and pain.

She simply could not speak of him.

"I'm sorry," she heard Jory mutter. She couldn't quite see what happened next, as she was staring intently at the ground, but she sensed that Alistair had turned toward the others, and guessed that he had silenced them with a pointed look. It made her feel absurdly grateful and wretched at the same time. This was not the impression she wanted to give.

But, before she could say anything to change it, Prince stiffened beside her and she heard the low rumble of a growl thunder through his chest.

It was amazing how quickly the men went from being focused on her to being ready for battle. Faster than she would have thought possible, Alistair had his sword and shield out and looked around warily, while Jory drew the enormous sword from off his back and stood next to him. When Elissa looked back at Daveth he'd already drawn his bow and had an arrow notched, pointing at a threat she hadn't even seen yet. . .

There—an enormous and monstrous looking wolf emerged from the underbrush of a small hill to her left, and then a good half dozen more popped out around them, rushing at them with the frantic energy Elissa would have normally associated with rabid animals.

Jory and Alistair drew the attention of most of the pack while Daveth shot arrows over her head at a few animals that were coming up in front of them on the right.

She froze in fear at the sight of them. The wolves didn't look _normal_ at all. Their snarling jaws dripped with what looked like black ichor instead of saliva, and their hides were covered in patchy pieces of fur.

As Elissa stared in horror, she realized that she could see the sinew of muscles and even some bones poking through the skin of the wolf that was barreling toward her. She could do nothing but stare as the wolf ran at her, madness lighting a fire in his wild, red eyes. Right as the wolf launched itself at her, Prince appeared and barreled into it, knocking it away from her.

Elissa's heart leapt into her throat. _Thank the Maker!_

Prince and the wolf rolled onto the ground, and her chest seized up in fear that the monster was going to kill her mabari. Finally, she had sense enough to start moving, but before she could get her blade out of its sheath the force of something large and impossibly hard crashed into her back and she was knocked to the ground.

The force of the fall jolted her and she could barely breathe, but she managed to turn over, scrambling backwards on her hands and feet.

The wolf didn't hesitate, and he was on her before she could stand. She managed to bring up her right leg in time to deliver a swift kick to its face, but it only stopped the beast for a moment and before she could pull her leg away its huge jaws clamped down on her leg right below the knee.

The vicious jaws of the animal pierced her calf and Elissa screamed. The wolf jerked his head back with her leg still clenched in his jaws, and Elissa saw stars, so great was the searing agony the animal inflicted with his massive, sharp teeth. She felt certain he was going to bite her leg clean off with another jerk of its head, but thankfully just then Daveth appeared above her and bashed the wolf in the face with the pummel of his sword, the force strong enough to make the animal loosen its jaws on her leg.

With another shriek of pain Elissa pulled herself away as Daveth stepped over her, driving his sword deep into the animal's neck with a sickening _crunch._

Elissa's stomach heaved as the wolf's carcass flopped over dead in front of her. The blood that flowed from its neck looked black and thick—not at all like regular blood. And it stank—the animal had only just died, but the stench of death had clung to it while it was alive too.

"What _are_ those things?" she asked breathlessly, staring in horror at the corpses around her.

"Blight wolves," Alistair explained. She looked over to see him looking at her with a worried expression. The bodies of several wolves lay at his and Jory's feet.

She turned back in time to see Daveth start to kneel over her, reaching out to inspect her wound. "Your leg—"

"—do not touch me!" she shrieked and pulled back. In an instant Prince was there, standing over her and growling menacingly up at the pickpocket.

"Alright, alright!" he said, backing away with his hands raised and shaking his head. "I was just trying to help."

Elissa pushed Prince away and reached into her bag. "I do not require your help," she said stiffly. "I can take care of this myself."

After a few moments of fumbling she retrieved a health potion. She rolled up her pant leg and then scowled at the nasty looking bite on her calf. One of the wolf's sharp teeth had punctured her calf quite deeply, and Elissa's stomach churned just looking at the way the blood pooled in the hole in her leg.

She took a deep breath before uncorking the vial and reaching back in her bag to retrieve a bandage. Then, she spread the potion on it and took another deep breath before pressing it against the wound at her calf.

It burned like fire. She screwed up her face and turned away, trying to breathe through her nose and _willing_ herself not to cry. Finally, the potion started to work, and the burning faded away into an annoying but far more bearable itch. She turned back to examine the wound-it had mostly closed, though it was still raw looking and would need to be covered.

As she wrapped her leg in the bandage she heard Daveth give a low whistle and she looked up in surprise. "What?"

"Nothing. You're just tougher than you look, is all."

She blinked at him in shock. He thought she was tough? It astonished her enough to leave her speechless for a few seconds as she stared at her leg. After a moment she recovered and looked up at him. "And you are just a _bit_ smarter than you look," she said dryly, earning her a chuckle before he shook his head and walked away.

She rolled her pant leg back down and then got to her feet, gingerly testing her weight on her leg. It ached still, and she figured she might have some scarring, but she could walk just fine. As she knelt to return her health potion and bandages to her bag, a shadow loomed over her, causing her to look up with a squint.

Alistair looked down at her in concern. "How's the leg?" he said.

She felt a sudden rush of gratitude at his quiet concern. "It'll be fine, thank you," she said, standing up and slinging her pack back over her shoulder. "Though I am a bit worried about infection," she confessed.

She saw something flit across his expression at that and she looked up at him inquisitively. "Of course . . . Wardens must have some means of guarding against the darkspawn corruption, don't they?"

His face lost a bit of his color and he opened his mouth and then closed it, and she gave a frustrated sigh and held up a hand. "Never mind," she said, cutting off his response. She looked at him with eyebrows raised. "You can tell me more after the Joining, I know."

He frowned down at her and Elissa was surprised to see his expression harden, and a coldness creep into his gaze. It was so incongruous with his normally friendly demeanor that she blinked up at him in surprise.

"Yeah, well," he said rubbing his heck and not meeting her gaze. "Let's just move on." He turned to go, but Elissa reached out and stopped him. He looked back at her curiously.

She leaned in to whisper. "Did Duncan tell you anything about me?"

He frowned at her in confusion. "No, I . . . heard what happened from a messenger."

Elissa shook her head and let go of his arm. "I don't mean about that. I mean . . . he didn't pull you aside and talk to you about me?"

"No. What are you talking about?"

Elissa frowned down at her feet. "I suppose it's all a part of the initiation," she said, thinking aloud. "And he thinks I have to figure this out on my own . . ."

"Figure what out? Elissa?"

She opened her mouth to speak but before she could Prince started barking wildly. They both turned to see the hound up ahead, looking at something they couldn't see behind the small hill the path wound around.

Alistair held up a hand. "Hold that thought," he said, and then jogged after the dog. Elissa could do nothing but sigh and follow with the others.

When she rounded the bend, she spotted the body. It was a soldier, lying face up in the mud. As Elissa looked around she realized that he wasn't the only one—there were at least a dozen bodies lying dead in the grass and in the mud at the bottom of this hill.

She looked down at the first body. The blood seemed fresh—this didn't happen too long ago. She flipped the man over with her foot to see the shield on his back. The sigil it bore belonged to some minor Bann—she couldn't remember who, but she breathed a sigh of relief.

They weren't Highever men, at least.

Just then they heard a voice up ahead. "Who . . .is that?"

Elissa spotted movement—one of the bodies lifted its head. She rushed forward, and the rest followed.

"Grey Wardens?" the man looked up at them in disbelief as they approached. He had a nasty gash on his head and his arm hung from his shoulder at an uncomfortable angle.

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" Alistair said, cheerily walking up behind her.

Elissa turned and gave him an incredulous look. "There's no such thing as 'half dead'," she began, before seeing the bemused grin start to spread over Alistair's face. With a roll of her eyes she turned back to the injured man. "What happened here?" she asked.

"My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn! They came out of the ground." He looked up at them with eyes that were wild with fear. "Please, help me! I've got to . . . return to camp."

Something cold coiled in Elissa's belly at the man's words, but she steadfastly tried to ignore it. Instead, she offered him a drink from one of her vials and he accepted it gratefully, along with a drink from Alistair's water skin. It was only a couple of minutes later that he stood and after offering his copious thanks, set off in the direction they'd come in.

Elissa watched him go before turning back to face the others. Jory stared at them in wide-eyed fear.

"Did you hear? An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

Elissa swallowed the lump in her throat. Ser Jory was _afraid_. This was a man trained as a knight and skilled in the ways of war, and he was ready to turn tail and run. How scared should _she_ be?

Alistair took a step toward the knight and put his hands up. "Calm down, Ser Jory. We'll be fine if we're careful."

It didn't help. Jory became even more agitated.

"Those soldiers were careful," he said, pointing at the bodies around them with an emphatic finger. "And they were still overwhelmed. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred?" His eyes darted to Elissa, standing behind Alistair, and for a moment she feared the knight had figured out her inexperience and was going to call her out. But thankfully, he didn't. "There's an entire _army_ in these forests!"

"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde," Alistair said, his voice level and soothing.

"How do you know?" Jory pressed on, undeterred. "I'm not a coward, but this is foolish and reckless. We should go back."

"It does seem a bit . . . dangerous," Elissa said quietly. Alistair looked at her and she flushed and looked at her feet, embarrassed at revealing her fear.

"See? What did I tell you?" Jory said.

"A bit of fear isn't unnatural, you know," Alistair said calmly, looking between Elissa and Jory. "Few relish meeting darkspawn up close. I know I don't." His gentle tone was helping, and Elissa tried to focus on what he was saying. "Know this: All Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn. Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise. That's why I'm here."

Elissa looked up sharply at that and caught his eyes for a moment before he looked purposely away. _The Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn. _That was another clue, Elissa realized. It had to be related to this Joining ritual . . .

"You see, ser knight? We might die, but we'll be warned about it first." Elissa looked up in surprise at Daveth. His nonchalant bravery was kind of impressive.

"That is . . . reassuring?" In spite of Jory's tone, the man _did_ seem a tiny bit reassured.

She looked at the men trying to overcome their own fears, and felt enormously guilty. None of them knew the truth about _her._

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however," Alistair said firmly, before giving them all a pointed look and moving away from them. "Let's get a move on."

The others followed but Elissa remained where she stood. She stared at the carnage the darkspawn had wrought. _How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? _The knight had included her in that number, but really, there were only three of them that could slay darkspawn . . .

She heard a huff next to her and looked down to see Prince staring up at her. She sighed and petted his head.

Technically there _were_ four fighters here, she realized. She just wasn't one of them. Of course, she wasn't so sure that the others would see it that way. But she couldn't put off the truth any longer.

She watched them walk away from her for a few seconds, knowing what she had to do but finding herself unable to speak. Finally the three men seemed to notice that she wasn't following them and turned back to look at her. She looked down at the ground, unable to meet their curious gazes.

"Elissa?" she heard Alistair say as he walked back to stand in front of her. "What's wrong?"

The other men had come up behind him and were now staring at her as well. Her tongue felt impossibly large in her mouth, like she hadn't drunk water in days. She had to tell these men the truth, somehow, but she found the prospect utterly daunting.

She bit her lip and looked down at Prince. He looked up at her with his eyebrows screwed up in that way he had—her mother had joked that he was trying to copy her own habit of raising one eyebrow when she was being inquisitive.

_Oh Maker_, she thought, _Prince is the perfect companion_. He never cared if she was cross or if she couldn't defend herself. He was simply and utterly devoted to fighting for her. That was what she had to let them see, she realized. He was just as good as them, and they would just have to accept that fact.

With an impulsive sort of resolve she squared her shoulders and turned to the men standing in front of her. She straightened her back and looked at the three of them in the eye in turn, before speaking with a clear, commanding voice. "I thought you all should know before we get any farther that Prince does my fighting for me," she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "He's far better at it than I am anyway." She gave a tight little smile at that, hoping her breezy tone would accomplish . . . something.

The three men stared at her in silence for several heartbeats before Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Wait, what do you mean exactly?"

She frowned up at them. "He does the fighting for me as I have not. . . trained in it," she continued, trying to sound far more confident than she felt. At their dubious expressions she went on. "I am not completely worthless," she said, feeling her cheeks grow hot at their continued scrutiny, and hating every second of this. "I have extensive knowledge of both potions and poisons, and I've adapted some old traps of mine to be quite lethal—"

"You _cannot_ be serious?" Elissa's heart fell. Jory's was staring at her in shock. "You have no formal training _whatsoever_?"

Before Elissa could retort Daveth snorted at the knight. "Formal training's overrated anyway. 'snot like I had it and I fight just fine."

She looked at the thief, surprised at his support.

"Yes, but you _know how to fight_," Jory went on, sounding more and more hysterical. "She doesn't!" He turned back to Elissa and pointed a finger at her. "I don't know what you did to fool Duncan, but it ends now."

"I did _not_ fool him—"

Jory had no intention of letting her speak. "You're making a mockery of this! It isn't fair," the knight whined, and Elissa was struck then with how cow-like the man looked. "I earned my place to be here! If Duncan knew—"

"You think I didn't _earn my place?_" Elissa snarled, stepping closer, and glaring up at the taller man with eyes of rage. "I may not have been trained in combat but I _do_ know how to kill. I've probably killed more men than the lot of you combined," she said, waving an angry hand at the rest of them. She knew she was hardly an intimidating figure, having just revealed to the lot of them the fact that she wasn't trained to fight at all. But her rage burned so hot inside her at that moment she felt every bit as dangerous as the rest of them."And they did not die prettily, Ser Jory," she added.

When he looked at her he must have seen something of the darkness inside her because he finally faltered. "I'm . . . well that may be true but I still think that Duncan should be informed—"

"He already knows," Alistair said quietly, and Elissa whirled to face him with wide eyes. "Doesn't he?"

"In fact, he does," she answered, hearing her heartbeat thrum in her ears. That was the second time he had backed her up when she wasn't expecting it.

He was looking at her now, however, with an inscrutable expression. She wasn't quite sure he was convinced yet.

She turned back to Jory. One problem at a time.

"Duncan is well aware of my abilities," she said calmly, finally feeling her blood start to cool in her veins. She looked at them all with a steely gaze. "And I am _not_ going back to camp. I don't care what you might think of me or my abilities; Duncan believes in me and has included me in this task. I _will_ do my duty and accomplish this mission."

Daveth gave a low whistle. "Maker's blood. Beauty, brains and bravery?" he said giving her a smile she was surprised to find a bit charming. "I think I'm in love!"

"You have no sense at all!" Jory spit out. "This is ridiculous."

Ignoring both the knight and the thief Elissa turned to Alistair. "Well? What do you say, Warden?"

He looked at her for a long moment, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Finally he turned to Jory. "Ser Jory . . . it doesn't work like that. We can't go back. We don't have time for it anyway."

He gave her another look, his brow furrowed deeply, before stalking away from them.

Elissa frowned in confusion. That wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, she realized, but it would have to do.

Jory threw up his hands in exasperation. "Fine!" he practically shouted. "But if she gets herself killed it won't be my fault." He turned to face her then, and she saw an idea take root in his eyes. "And . . . she needs to kill her _own_ darkspawn to get her _own_ vial of blood. No one else should have to kill one for her," he finished with an angry glare.

Daveth gave a shrug. "That sounds fair," he said, turning to look at Elissa. "What do you think Princess? You got a darkspawn kill in you?"

"It's fine," she snapped angrily, adjusting her pack around her shoulder. "Let's go. We have much to do and little enough time in which to do it."

She brushed past them, but just as she stepped on the path Alistair loomed in front of her again. She scowled up at him, finding herself irrationally and disproportionately angry at his lukewarm acceptance. "What do you_ want_?" she snapped.

He blinked down at her in surprise at her tone, and it was only after a few seconds that Elissa realized he held something in his hands. A crossbow. He must have scavenged it from the battlefield.

He held it out for her. "Do you have any archery experience?" he asked.

Her mouth fell open at the question. "Yes, actually. But I have found it difficult to apply my training to . . . this sort of thing."

Alistair nodded briskly. "Right, well, hitting a moving target is a fair bit harder than hitting a stationary one, isn't it?"

She nodded gratefully at his generous explanation. "So what's this then?" she asked, taking the crossbow from his hands.

"Well, a crossbow . . . it's quite a bit different from shooting with a bow and arrow actually, but it might be a good place for you to start." He pointed at the bolt loading mechanism. "A crossbow bolt packs a much harder punch than a regular arrow, so it's a little more forgiving in terms of accuracy—but only from a fairly short distance, relatively speaking. Here, let me show you how to load it." He took the crossbow back from her and then retrieved a bolt from a quiver on his shoulder before showing her how to load it into the crossbow and pull back the trigger. "It doesn't look like this model has a safety so be careful," he warned, handing it and the quiver back to her.

She accepted them and looked up at him in surprise. "This is . . . a really clever idea."

He snorted. "Don't act so surprised." Elissa didn't miss the self-deprecating tone in his voice.

"I am _always_ surprised when people are clever." Her deadpan delivery and serious expression earned her a bark of a laugh at that.

"Fair enough," he said with a smile.

She cocked her head to the side and looked up at him. "Why are you doing this anyway? I thought you weren't supposed to make things easy for us?"

He looked at her seriously, his expression suddenly turning grim. "I don't think this is going to be easy."

She gulped at the gravity of his tone. "Right," she said taking a deep breath and looking around. "That's . . . encouraging."

He leaned in and said in a low voice, "You know, the first time I fought darkspawn, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous they are. I can't say I'm looking forward to encountering them again."

Elissa's mouth felt completely dry, and she found herself holding her breath and looking at her feet. After a moment she exhaled and glared up at him. "Are you trying to scare me?" she asked, feeling defensive.

He frowned down at her. "No. I'm just trying to prepare you. The darkspawn are going to be more monstrous than the Blight wolves."

Elissa felt her breath catch in her throat. She had hoped no one had noticed her paralysis in the thick of the fighting. But of course he had. "I see," she said, looking at her feet again.

She sensed him lean in closer and she looked up at him in surprise. The look he gave her was again serious, but not unkind. "It's alright," he said softly. "It was just . . . battle nerves. It happens."

She flushed at his reassurances, feeling like a fool for needing them. "It won't happen again," she said, scowling up at him.

He didn't flinch at her tone. Just leaned back and crossed his arms, regarding her seriously. "Just answer me one question."

His tone was so different—she looked at him curiously. "What?"

"Before . . .when we talked at camp, you made it seem like you have no idea why Duncan recruited you."

She shrugged. "That's right. I still don't."

He gave a half smile of disbelief and a little snort of a laugh. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? You're . . . well you're some kind of a genius or something, aren't you?"

It was strange. Elissa had heard several compliments today. First Daveth said she was tough, and then brave, and now Alistair was calling her a genius.

The difference was, she _knew_ she was smart. So the compliment shouldn't have affected her the way it did.

She flushed deeply, but then shook her head and focused on what Alistair was saying. "Tell me, have you ever heard the expression 'when the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem is a nail'?"

He squinted down at her in confusion. "Yeah," he said. "How exactly does that apply . . .?"

"The nail in this case is killing darkspawn," she said softly, watching his face for his reaction.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "And you're not a hammer," he said after a long moment.

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead and she couldn't keep her lips from bending into a smile. "There you go, surprising me again."

It took him a second, but then it was his turn to flush deeply. _He's not used to being considered clever_, she realized. _Curious_.

He recovered and then looked down at her with a confused smile. "So what problem are you supposed to solve?"

"I have some theories but . . . I really don't know yet," she confessed ruefully. Plus, she had the whole trying-not-to-die thing dominating her thoughts at the moment.

"Fair enough," he said and turned to go, but before he did Elissa stopped him once again by putting her hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she said in a low whisper. "For all of your help. I do appreciate it."

His face was unreadable as he looked down at her, and once again Elissa noticed how his gaze seemed to harden. She let go of his arm. "Don't mention it," he muttered.

As he walked away it suddenly came to her, the reason for his weird moments of distance like that. It was obvious, really.

_He thinks I'm going to die._

This wasn't a deduction. This was pure intuition, but Elissa knew with that utter clarity she sometimes had that she was right. Alistair was worried that she was going to die.

And now, with an intensity she would not have thought herself capable of since she had left her castle on that dreadful night, Elissa found that she worried about it too.

* * *

_Author's Note: First off, thanks to all who have read, reviewed, favorited or followed! I appreciate it :) _


	6. Fight

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 6: Fight_

_Don't tell me it's going to be all right.__  
__You can't sell me on your optimism tonight.  
_—Wish I May, Ani Difranco_  
_

"Why are we stopping?" Elissa hissed in a whisper. The four of them crouched behind an embankment, hidden out of sight.

"There's a band of darkspawn camped out beyond that bridge, on the other side of these ruins," Alistair whispered back. "They have an emissary with them."

Elissa's gaze snapped to his. "An emissary? One of the darkspawn mages? How do you know? Is it your Templar abilities or your Grey Warden senses that tell you?"

Alistair almost laughed at her breathless string of questions. Her curiosity was a little more endearing when it wasn't focused with razor-sharp precision on his past, at least. "Neither. It's logic, actually. They don't typically dig in like this unless they have an emissary to protect."

"I see. It's a good thing we have a Templar with us," Elissa said, nodding at him.

"It won't do us any good if I can't get to him. The bridge is a choke point—"

"And they'll just mow us down with their spells and arrows if we all are grouped up there," Elissa finished for him. She frowned over the edge of the embankment for another moment before lowering herself back into a crouch and saying, "I have an idea."

She unbuckled her belt where her sword hung and set them both on the ground.

"If it involves getting undressed I'm all ears," Daveth said with a crooked grin.

Alistair was about to chide him when Elissa's hand shot out and pushed the thief on the shoulder with just enough force for him to topple over with a surprised laugh.

"Will you all be _quiet?_" Jory hissed, face turning red. He glared at them both while Daveth righted himself.

Elissa went on as if nothing had happened. "I'm going to sneak up there and lay some traps," she said, unslinging the bag she wore draped across her shoulder and retrieving some traps from it.

She grabbed the delicate amber vial she'd traded for at the shop. Daveth's eyes went wide and he gave a low whistle of appreciation. "A fire bomb! You don't see those too often."

In contrast to Jory, Daveth seemed to have no problem with Elissa's presence, and found her "bag of tricks" as he called it, endlessly amusing.

Elissa slipped the vial into a pocket and picked up her traps. "I'm going to use myself as bait to get their attention, lure them into these traps . . ." She held up the two small traps in her hands. ". . . then when they trip them, I'll throw the fire bomb and—"

"The grease'll ignite and those 'spawn'll be toast!" Daveth finished for her, admiration lighting his eyes.

"That's right," Elissa said, and started to rise.

Alistair reached out to stop her, but a low growl from Prince let him know what the consequences of _that_ action would be. "Wait," he whispered instead, letting his arm fall back to his side. She turned back to look at him with an inquisitive frown. "This sounds dangerous."

The look she gave him was part incredulous and part exasperated. "And?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He didn't really have an answer for that. "Right," he said. "Just . . . be careful."

Daveth rummaged around in his own pack and came out with flint and steel. "Hold on there, Princess. Don't waste your precious fire bomb." He took the quiver off his back and pulled out an arrow before putting it back and looking for a different one. "I've got an arrow in here I can light up and shoot when they hit the trap."

Elissa nodded at him. "Fine." She turned to Prince. "Bite anyone who touches my stuff," she said, before disappearing over the embankment.

Jory barely waited until Elissa was out of earshot before he started in on her again. "This is ridiculous. I don't know what Duncan was thinking, recruiting her."

The dog growled low in his throat and stared at Jory.

"I don't think he likes you slagging on his mistress," Daveth said with a grin.

"Surely he can't understand me?" Jory's eyes were wide in spite his doubts. "And anyway," he said, sounding much more diplomatic. "I am not 'slagging' on her. I'm merely saying that this situation hardly seems fair."

"You didn't seem to mind using her potions."

Since Elissa's charming little announcement (_Maker's_ _breath—_Duncan could have at least warned him!), Daveth had become quite supportive, much to Alistair's surprise. When he wasn't trying to obnoxiously flirt with the girl, Daveth offered her bits of advice about ranged combat as they made their way through the Korcari Wilds.

And it had been working—so far, they'd beaten every pack of darkspawn they'd come across with little problem.

Prince really was a terrific fighter, good at taking out archers and tackling some of the larger creatures. Alistair had been worried about corruption from the darkspawn, but Elissa found a Wilds flower she claimed would protect the beast. The dog hadn't exhibited any signs of sickness so far, so he had to conclude that it was effective.

Elissa wasn't half bad with the crossbow, herself, especially after a pointed warning from Daveth not to fire into the melee fighters, no matter how tempting the shot—good advice considering both Elissa and Daveth used deathroot on their arrows and bolts. The mild toxin wasn't deadly, but it did make the creatures freeze up periodically in bouts of paralysis, allowing Alistair and Jory to kill them all that much easier.

"She still hasn't killed a darkspawn."

It was true, she'd hit some, but she hadn't actually killed any herself yet. She seemed reluctant to get close enough to one to finish it off. Not that he could blame her. And not that it _mattered_ really. "That is _fine,"_ he said with a biting tone, turning back to watch Elissa. "Daveth, get ready with that arrow."

The plan worked, though Alistair's heart was in his throat the whole time he watched Elissa creep up to the darkspawn party and lay her traps. She lured them out by throwing a rock at the bridge, and when the darkspawn triggered the grease traps, Daveth shot a flaming arrow into the lead one.

The explosion drew out the rest, and in a convenient reversal the chokepoint of the bridge seemed to work in their favor. Daveth and Elissa were able to shoot at them from behind cover as the monsters made their way across the bridge, and eventually Alistair was able to get to the emissary and drain his mana. They made short work of the rest of them after that.

The swamp sounded unnaturally quiet after the cacophony of battle faded.

Alistair picked his way over the traps on the bridge. He had blown right by them on his way to attack the emissary during the fight, never even seeing them. He only now noticed that the rock Elissa had thrown set off a number of them when she'd tossed it at the bridge. He wondered if that was her intention, but then chuckled to himself at the question. Of course it was.

He found her kicking sullenly at one of the blackened corpses on the other side of the bridge.

"Their bodies are too burnt," she said, eyebrows pulling together into a frustrated frown. "I can't get any blood from them."

"Just get it from one of the other corpses," Alistair said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate behind him.

"I can't. I didn't kill any of those."

"Who cares? Just because Jory says you have to get your own vial doesn't make it true. He can't just decidethat."

"I said that I would kill one, and I will."

"You did kill one," he countered, and then looked around him. "In fact, you killed three. You just killed them so thoroughly that you can't get the blood from them. That shouldn't matter."

She looked as if she might be convinced for a moment. Her gaze traveled from the corpses at their feet and then past him to the other recruits by the bridge. But after a moment of scowling she looked at him and shook her head. "Actually, I didn't. It was Daveth's arrow that technically killed them."

Alistair let out a frustrated sigh. The girl was her own worst critic, he was coming to learn. No matter how much they thanked her for her potions, for example, she'd just shrug and say that they were damn inefficient compared to the healing power of a mage. "The blast radius of that shrapnel trap should have been larger," he had heard her mutter after one fight. "This poison loses its potency too quickly!" she complained after another.

"That's just . . . a technicality. They wouldn't be dead without your idea."

She shook her head. "He'll say it was a trick."

He didn't have to ask who she meant. "Who cares what Jory thinks?"

She just glared at him at that, and while Alistair had never been particularly good at mind reading, he could guess what she was thinking clearly enough. She wanted to do this to prove something to _herself—_he could see that, and blast it if it didn't make him admire her just a little bit for it.

"Look," he said, glancing around to make sure no one overheard them. "If you're set on killing one yourself, just try and stab one in the back that I'm fighting."

She looked up at him suspiciously. "That sounds like cheating."

"This isn't a game_,_ Elissa—you can't _cheat_ at it," he said, surprising himself with the heat in his tone. "Winning just means the darkspawn are dead and you're not—that's _it._" Her mouth fell open and Alistair thought she was going to snap at him in response. He decided to head that off. "Just . . . just promise me that you'll think about it, alright?"

She closed her mouth, apparently deciding not to say whatever it was she was about to. She looked at him a long moment before he saw her shoulders relax ever so slightly. He started to feel relieved, like maybe he was getting through to her, when she looked him square in the eye and said, "No."

He could do nothing but blink at her for several seconds as he tried to process the unexpected answer. "What do you mean, _no_?"

She had the grace to look apologetic, at least. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to think about it. Did you want me to lie to you and tell you that I would?" He stared at her dumbly. She went on at his silence. "I need to kill one of these darkspawn on my own and get my _own_ vial from it. That's what I agreed to do and that's what I'm _going_ to do."

There was a part of him that was impressed, sure, at the girl's stubborn determination. An even larger part of him however, could not help feeling a little appalled at her outright refusal to even admit to _thinking_ about doing things his way.

She saw something in his face then—he didn't know what, but all of a sudden her expression went from grim determination to sad and thoughtful. She looked at the ground, brows knit together over eyes that were now blinking away tears.

His mind reeled in utter confusion. What had he done? "What's wrong?"

She looked up and gave a small, tight smile. "That expression on your face—I'm not used to seeing it on people who aren't family," she said quietly, looking at the ground again.

"Really?" he couldn't keep the incredulity out of his tone and she looked up sharply at him at that. He realized how insulting that question must've sounded—but he honestly couldn't imagine that Elissa didn't frustrate every other living soul she came in contact with on a daily basis. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that to sound—"

She gave a snort. "It's fine." She seemed slightly amused at his distress, which was an improvement over the sad look, at least. "I'm not normally like . . . _this_," she explained, waving a hand in general at herself.

"What do you mean?"

She gave a big sigh and then fell silent for so long Alistair wondered if she was going to answer.

"When people look at me," she finally began again. ". . . They see a young, vapid highborn girl. And that's what I let them see. Believe it or not, I used to keep my observations to myself."

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't normally greet people by telling them where they were born and what they had for breakfast?"

She rolled her eyes but there was a hint of a smile on her lips, he could tell. "No," she said. "Not normally."

"Oh, I'm just lucky then?"

Again there was a hint of a smile there but she didn't look at him. "Something like that."

"Why though?" he asked. "Why keep your genius a secret?"

"_Because_," she said, rolling her eyes to the heavens and sighing deeply. Alistair almost laughed. He couldn't help it. Maybe it was just some sort of weird defense mechanism to shield himself from the brunt of her anger, but he found himself oddly entertained by her pouty frustration.

She would likely find that terribly patronizing and she'd be _right_ of course. He had no business thinking about her like that, especially not before . . .

The thought that hit him then made his smile flee. Even if he could keep her from ending up on the wrong side of a darkspawn sword out _here_, there was absolutely nothing anyone could do to protect her from the _Joining._

"Right," he said abruptly, frowning and not meeting her eyes. "Anyway, we're almost to the treaties and you're doing fine. Let's get going."

* * *

Elissa couldn't keep from scowling at Alistair's back as he walked away from her. Not for the first time, she wished the man could better school his face so as not to reveal _every_ emotion that he happened to be experiencing at any given moment.

His assurances that she was "doing fine" were undercut markedly by the whole _oh shit, Elissa's totally going to die_ face he kept making.

As she followed the others she tried to breathe deeply and calmly, struggling not to let her fear overwhelm her and paralyze her again. She couldn't afford that—not now, so close to their goal and her with so few tricks left up her sleeve.

She was out of traps, and nearly out of poison. Daveth had taught her to retrieve her crossbow bolts that didn't land on their target (and there were a decent amount of her shots that went wide, much to her dismay), so she still had plenty of those left, at least. And her sword. And her fire bomb.

And her vial—her still _empty_ vial. _What do we need darkspawn blood for anyway?_

That was an attractive question, but she really shouldn't spend time worrying about it. She needed to stay focused on the present—on surviving, not solving every mystery that her mind was confronted with.

Still, as they approached a large sloping hill, Elissa couldn't help thinking about the mysterious ritual. Whatever happened there, she knew, _not_ whatever they were doing out here in the Wilds, would be the thing to _make_ them Grey Wardens, able to sense the darkspawn and immune to their taint.

She couldn't help feeling a thrill of anticipation at the idea of having any kind of unnatural or special abilities. While logically she knew that the life of a mage could be a bitter one, imprisoned away from family and watched every second by Templars, there had always been a small part of her that wished she could have their power—the fact that it apparently took no small amount of intelligence and studying to master magic only made it seem all the more wrong that she couldn't do it herself.

Really, she _should_ have been born a mage. This whole ordeal would be so much easier if she could light people on fire with her mind, instead of having to rely on tricks and traps.

Of course, if she had been born a mage, she wouldn't have known her family . . .

She shook her head and willed herself to stop thinking about it. It wouldn't do her any good.

She'd been looking at her feet in quiet contemplation for a while, so she didn't notice that Alistair had apparently called for a stop until Daveth reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her down into a crouch behind a tree.

She looked up sharply, wondering where the hell Prince was and why he was letting Daveth manhandle her like this, when she saw the hound standing between them and Alistair and Jory up ahead. The hound was stiff and poised as if ready to bolt forward, the hackles on his neck raised in warning.

Elissa gulped. "There must be a lot of darkspawn up ahead," she whispered to Daveth.

He turned at her and nodded, bringing one finger to his lips. She slowly and quietly loaded her crossbow.

Alistair looked back at them and then made a series of gestures that she thought must have meant something about darkspawn and where they were up ahead, but her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she couldn't even think about interpreting them.

Fortunately Daveth seemed to understand, because he guided her up and over to another position further away from Jory and Alistair, behind another copse of trees.

"See them now, up there," he whispered, leaning over and pointing with two fingers at a grouping of rock that stood in front of a large domed structure. She peered into the distance, trying to see what he saw. She just saw rocks.

"I'll never hit them from here." The range on the crossbow was only good for about half of the distance between them and the rock formation.

Daveth pointed to the others, who had just started engaging a group of darkspawn on their left—also out of the range of Elissa's crossbow. "They're gonna draw them all over there and I'm going to pick them off from here. I might get their attention. If I do, you hit them with the crossbow when they come in range." At that, he stood out of cover and Elissa could practically _feel_ the sharp twang of the bowstring as he let loose an arrow at the darkspawn that were now emerging from behind the rocks.

He felled a genlock and then drew again. The darkspawn ignored him, as the two men and Prince were closer and much noisier targets.

Elissa crouched by the tree, crossbow in hand, feeling completely useless. She could barely make out Alistair and Jory's heads above the swarm of darkspawn they were contending with. The men didn't _seem_ to be having any problems, but she had never seen this many darkspawn together before.

_How many can the four of us slay? _

Daveth let loose another arrow and struck a hurlock in the arm. The darkspawn gave a wordless yell in outrage and turned its disgusting head to look where Daveth and Elissa were stationed.

"Alright, that one's yours, Princess," Daveth said, already drawing and aiming at another heading for the other group.

She stood up and pointed the crossbow at the monster heading toward them, willing herself to wait until he got in range before firing. When it was at half the distance between them and the rocks, she took a deep breath, braced herself and sighted down the crossbow. The monster ran straight at them, at least. She exhaled and pulled the trigger.

The bolt struck the darkspawn in the shoulder opposite to his arm injury and the force of it nearly spun him around. For a moment Elissa thought he might fall, but then he staggered forward and kept coming.

Willing herself not to panic, Elissa reloaded the crossbow, taking care not to move too quickly with her hands as unsteady as they were. She loaded the bolt into the chamber and pulled the bowstring taut, before lifting the crossbow and sighting down it again at the hurlock who was now only twenty feet away.

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and fired again. It hit the darkspawn in the middle of the chest. It wasn't quite point blank range, but it was close enough for the extra power of the crossbow to really pay off. She could tell by the way the blood splattered out that the bolt had torn through armor and flesh.

She had done it—she had killed her first darkspawn.

She watched the darkspawn drop before her, a smile half forming on her face, when suddenly Daveth shouted out a warning, sounding impossibly close on her left. She whirled around only to see a hurlock wearing a giant horned helm standing right in front of her. Before she could even drop her crossbow the darkspawn swung its fist at her head, and then there was only a brief moment of blinding pain before everything went black.


	7. Escape

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 7: Escape_

_Creatures seem to scream and faint_  
_Shadows blink and the laws will break_  
_Questions we could never solve_  
_As answers in darkness evolved_  
—Ash Tree Lane, MS MR

The darkspawn slid off the end of Alistair's sword with a weird sucking sound, leaving behind an eerie silence. He looked up in surprise, breathing heavily and feeling the ache in his muscles from what felt only moments ago like a battle against a never-ending number of darkspawn.

Jory stood next to him, leaning heavily on the two-handed sword he had propped in the ground. Alistair looked around and saw an impressively large circle of darkspawn corpses around them.

"That's the last of them," Jory said, sounding just as tired as Alistair felt. "I thought they'd never end."

Alistair didn't even have the breath to respond. He turned to look where the others had been and didn't see them.

His heart, which had only just started to beat slower, sped up with sudden fear. "Where are the others?"

Jory turned to look and then looked at Alistair with a dumbfounded expression.

Before Alistair could lose himself to panic he heard the unmistakable bark of Elissa's mabari coming at them from a distance. He looked up in surprise, not noticing until now that the hound had even left his side. He saw Prince by the copse of trees where he'd stationed Elissa and Daveth at the start of the battle. The dog was obviously excited, dancing around and barking maniacally at them.

He shared a worried look with Jory before urging his tired muscles into action once again and taking off as fast as he could toward the mabari, worry forming an uncomfortable knot of acid in his stomach.

"Elissa? Daveth?" he shouted as he ran over, but heard no response.

He got to the trees and saw what Prince was going on about. Daveth was lying on the ground on his back, his bow still clutched in one hand. He looked bruised and bloodied but Alistair saw the man's chest rise and fall and realized quickly that he was still alive.

Prince was sniffing all around the area, clearly getting the scent of something, before giving a triumphant bark and dashing off into the words.

"Wait!" Alistair cried, taking a few steps to follow the dog and then turning and looking back at Daveth. "_Dammit_."

He walked back and knelt at Daveth's side, hoping he still had some of the potions Elissa had passed out to all of them, and trying not to succumb to the dread he felt encroaching on his sanity. Where the hell was Elissa?

"Maker's breath, what happened here?"

Alistair looked up to see Jory looming over him. The knight's eyes were wide with shock, and he simply stood there, staring.

Before Alistair could answer, Daveth stirred and gave a moan of pain. He mumbled something incomprehensible before finally opening his eyes and looking at them. "Sodding hell," he said, trying to sit up.

Alistair passed him a health potion. "Where's Elissa?"

Daveth choked down the potion and looked around. "I . . . I don't know." He shook his head, looking confused. "This big blighter of a darkspawn came up behind us and cuffed her on the head, and then got me . . ." He looked up at Alistair in concern. "She's not with you?"

He didn't answer, and instead got up and starting looking around the bottom of the hill. After a moment he noticed where some of the marsh grass appeared flattened as if something had been dragged across it.

It felt like there was a hunk of cold lead sitting in Alistair's stomach with the dawning realization of what must have happened.

"Oh Maker," he swore, feeling the panic that he'd only just managed to keep at bay staring to flare up even worse. "The darkspawn took her."

"The darkspawn took her body?" Jory said, sounding both incredulous and terrified.

But the question made Alistair think. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, she might not be dead." The two recruits looked at him doubtfully but he didn't really want to explain. "Look, we just have to find her—"

Just then Prince burst through the line of trees behind them to come barreling up to Alistair and deliver what sounded like a scathing reprimand in bark form. He stared at the beast, dumbfounded for a moment, before the hound gave another final bark, and then turned around to face the way he came.

The dog looked over his shoulder at Alistair and huffed. He felt a little crazy thinking it, but he was quite sure that huff meant "are you coming or what?"

"Right!" Of course Prince could track her. Alistair started after the dog. "Stay here with Daveth!" he called over his shoulder as he ran after the hound, hope flickering dangerously in his chest.

_Watch over your charges, Alistair. Return quickly and safely._

Duncan's words rang in his ears as he tried to keep up with the mabari charging through the Wilds, mocking his ineptitude and failure. He had thought splitting the archers away from the melee fighters to shoot from cover had been a good plan, but it obviously failed, nearly getting Daveth killed and getting Elissa kidnapped (or worse) as a result.

One thing was certain: after this, he was never leading anyone anywhere ever again.

* * *

It didn't take a genius to figure out that wherever the horn-helmed darkspawn was taking her and whatever it intended, it couldn't be good. Elissa's mind started to conjure up images of the mutilated bodies they'd seen the darkspawn leave in their wake before she stopped herself, trying to squash down the terror that was beginning to gnaw at her insides.

She needed to concentrate on relevant facts and details _only_—no matter how disturbing.

The first and most pressing detail was that a darkspawn was dragging her by her ankle across the swampy Korcari Wilds.

A light rain had started to fall and the grass she was getting dragged over was wet. The darkspawn who held her made no effort to stick to any sort of path, and Elissa could feel the water seeping in between the cracks in her leather armor. Fortunately the act of being dragged had caused her satchel to get lifted up by her head, providing a sort of lumpy pillow and protecting her skull from being bounced and banged on every rock and stick she was dragged across. This was doubly good considering the sharp throbbing pain she felt at her right temple—a pain accompanied by a sticky wetness that could only be blood.

How serious her head injury was, she didn't quite know. She only knew that when she probed it with a feather light touch the pain intensified enough to make her stomach heave and the entire world go hazy.

So, it was a pretty bad injury, and she knew she needed to attend to it quickly if she was going to survive this encounter.

_Why bother?_

She didn't have the strength to crease her brow into a frown at the unwelcome voice, but if she had she would have scowled deeply at the traitorous sentiment.

_All dead. Must be._

She knew the voice probably spoke a simple truth but she also knew it would only paralyze her with fear if she let the message seep in. Still, it was hard not to think about the other recruits and Alistair, and—_Maker, where the hell was Prince? _She couldn't believe her mabari was still alive . . . not if she'd been captured. He'd have done something, surely—

A painfully sharp rock scraped against her backside and she tensed involuntarily from the surprise before willing herself to go limp again. The darkspawn didn't react, so she let out a quiet breath in relief. It was better that the thing think she was still unconscious.

The shock was enough to stop her from worrying about the others and return her focus to her plan.

Her _plan_—that was a bit too ambitious a name for whatever it was she intended to do next. She only had a vague idea at the moment. She needed to _think_ and she needed to do it soon—her chances of escaping her captor were best right now, before the thing had a chance to meet up with more of its kind.

So, first things first, she needed to drink a health potion. The pain in her head was too distracting, and she would need to be at her best.

She lowered her right arm until her hand was even with her face and she could slip it into the opening of her satchel where she fervently hoped she could find at least one more potion.

She closed her eyes as she tried to feel out the shapes within. She felt a scratchy sprig of elfroot that crumbled under her fingers, and then her hand found a cool glass vial and her heart surged with hope. She grasped it and slowly brought it out of her bag, opening her eyes to see if the darkspawn noticed her movements, not taking her eyes off it until her hand was in front of her face.

She looked at her prize and then felt her stomach sink. It wasn't a health potion. It was her fire bomb—something that could perhaps be useful in the future, but it wasn't immediately helpful now. She couldn't exactly throw it at the spawn and risk it bouncing back on to her. She'd be just as likely to set herself on fire.

Still, it could come in handy, so she slipped it into the right front pocket of her pants before plunging her hand back into her bag for another search. This time it only took a few seconds of grasping before she found another vial.

The darkspawn seemed completely oblivious to her movements, probably thinking she was too weak to wake up from the blow it'd given her. She risked moving a little more quickly, bringing the vial to her face and feeling a surge of relief at the sight of the red liquid within it.

She could probably conserve some of it by applying it topically, but the thought of the pain that would force her to endure ruled out that idea in favor of drinking it. The medium-sized vial might contain more healing than she really needed, but she planned to quaff the whole thing, nevertheless.

It was her head she was healing, after all.

The problem was she didn't think she'd be able to drink it without spilling it from her position on her back, and she really didn't want to waste a single drop of it.

So, new priority: she had to get free.

She moved the potion to her other hand and slipped it into her left front pocket. She needed to remember: health potion on the left, fire bomb on the right. Getting those mixed up would have dire consequences . . . the absurdity of _that_ almost made her laugh, and the impulse frightened her because there was absolutely nothing humorous about her current predicament. She wondered if the inappropriate emotion were a result of her head injury, and _that_ thought was scary enough to rid her of any lingering amusement.

Escape . . . that was her next step. She reached down to her left hip where her family sword hung from her belt only to find her hand met an empty sheath. She _did_ frown then, and when her gaze traveled to the darkspawn who held her foot she just about snarled in rage when saw the Cousland family blade strapped to the creature's back.

Escape wasn't enough. She had to kill this bastard thing to get her sword back.

She took a deep breath and willed herself to think. She didn't know how much time she had, but she couldn't assume it was very much.

The darkspawn held her only by one ankle, and kind of loosely at that. She could probably unbend her other leg and deliver a swift kick to its hand to free herself before the thing noticed she was awake.

Probably.

But then what? She was weaponless, having dropped her crossbow back at the hill. She took mental stock of her supplies. She had some crossbow bolts in her quiver, and some poison left in her satchel. She could try stabbing it with a bolt, but she didn't feel very hopeful that she'd be able to deliver a killing blow through its armor before it was able to strike her down.

Though maybe it wanted her alive? It had hit her with its fist, she remembered, when it could have just as easily killed her with the large mace it wielded.

Still, she needed her sword back, and she doubted it would hesitate to kill her if she was nuisance enough. She couldn't count on it wanting her alive once she broke free.

She slipped her hand back into her satchel, hoping to find some key to her escape that had until now eluded her. She felt a few of her round tins containing balms that guarded against fire and ice—completely useless to her now.

Then her hand closed around a few small, square pieces of metal. She ran her thumb along the surface of one and felt the image stamped into it.

_Glamour charms . . ._

Her eyes widened with an idea. She pulled one of the charms out of her bag and held it in her hand, hesitating as she watched the darkspawn dragging her. She wasn't sure how strong the enchantment was—she would rather not alert the monster's attention to her wakefulness before the lure had a chance to work.

Maybe if she threw it, it'd get his attention and he'd drop her in pursuit of the shiny object. That would be ideal . . .

She took a deep breath, concentrated on a spot just above the darkspawn's left shoulder, and then threw the charm with a sharp flick of her wrist.

It sailed neatly over the 'spawn's shoulder, just exactly as she had hoped it would, but the monster didn't notice. It probably couldn't see it out of the eye slits of its helm, she realized, too late.

She let her head fall back down and stifled a frustrated sigh. She was going to have to take more drastic measures. She was betting her life on a stupid parlor trick, but she was out of options.

She reached into her bag and grabbed a couple of the charms before taking a deep breath and in as quick and smooth a motion as she could manage, brought her left leg up and delivered a swift, harsh kick to the hand that held her right ankle.

The darkspawn dropped her ankle immediately and Elissa wasted no time in scrambling backwards and then leaping to her feet. The world lurched horribly for a moment and she feared that she would black out, but she managed to steady herself. Through blinking eyes she watched the darkspawn whirl around and start toward her, lifting its mace overhead.

She held up a shaky hand, holding the gold charm between her thumb and forefinger, trying to get it to reflect as much light as possible to catch the monster's attention, feeling a little like a character holding up a symbol of Andraste in one of Oriana's Antivan vampire tales.

The monster froze and seemed to stare fixedly at the lure in her hand.

Her heart was pounding almost painfully in her chest as the darkspawn took another step toward her, growling with its enchanted desire for the charm. She held it up a few more seconds before deliberately throwing it to the right of the creature.

The monster whirled again and stumbled to its knees, pawing at the ground where the charm had landed. Elissa shoved the rest of the lures back in her bag and then jammed her hand down her left front pocket to retrieve the health vial.

She tried to calm herself and took a steadying breath before uncorking the vial and bringing it cautiously to her lips. She drank the whole thing, careful not to spill a drop, and even before she was finished drinking she felt the healing alchemy seep into her body. She closed her eyes. She could feel the skin begin to knit back together on the side of her head, a sensation that was at once both painful and pleasurable, before fading into an infuriating itch.

She opened her eyes, her mind suddenly feeling a thousand times clearer. The darkspawn was still pawing at the ground before it, looking for the charm.

The attraction spell on the charm would likely fade soon. Elissa had to act swiftly. She stepped lightly over to the darkspawn, feeling like a leaping dancer as she managed to grasp the sword and pull it off its back.

She didn't have any time to celebrate. The monster snapped out of the spell it was under and turned to face Elissa with a fearsome growl. The thing lunged and swung its mace in a wide over hand arc.

It must have been the suddenness of the attack that allowed her to react without thinking, because for once she didn't freeze at an imminent threat. Instead, she dodged in a move far more graceful and lithe than she would have thought herself capable.

The darkspawn stumbled at the end of his swing, his mace unexpectedly meeting nothing but air. She had time to dance a few steps backward before he came at her again. She was even more graceful with the next dodge, correctly reading his stance and the set of his body to predict where the mace would land and when.

It was a little exhilarating. She'd had no formal training, but she'd grown up with an older brother who was always bigger and stronger than her. And you can't grow up being the annoying know-it-all that she had been without learning how to dodge an attack or two from an exasperated older sibling.

She would never have predicted that such sibling antics would come in handy now, but they sure seemed to. The darkspawn came at her again several times, and each time his mace met only air, or the ground, or in once case a tree, as Elissa managed to dance around its attacks each time, never being where the thing expected her to be.

Eventually she would need to go on the offensive, she realized, because she doubted she could count on the thing tiring anytime soon. That was a tougher proposition. Her dancing dodges came naturally to her, but she always managed to move herself further _away_ from the creature, not close enough to actually attack it.

The thing was well armored, and the helm it wore covered its entire head, only leaving two small slits for the eyes. There was a small gap between the helm and the thing's chest armor where Elissa thought she might be able to deliver a killing blow if she were lucky.

She tried envisioning the steps she'd have to take, how she could move both away from the mace and in tight enough to get her blade under its chin. The monster sometimes raised its mace high overhead to swing at her in an overhand arc—that would provide her best opening. The move would require exact timing and speed. She'd be relying somewhat on the element of surprise. She just needed to get in the right position—

—she dodged a blow by rolling to her right, but instead of scrambling backwards and away she crouched, gripping her sword in her hand. The darkspawn recovered from the missed swing and saw the opportunity to end the battle. Like she hoped it would, the thing planted its feet and raised its mace high overhead in preparation for delivering the killing blow.

It was like time slowed down. She waited until _just_ before the swing was at its apex to spring.

It was a leap that felt every bit like the proverbial leap of faith. She barreled into the thing's chest with such force that it actually stumbled and_ fell_. She landed on top of it with a painful jolt, stunning the breath out of her and paralyzing her for a few precious seconds while she saw stars in her eyes.

It must have knocked the wind out of the darkspawn too, because it also needed a few seconds before it delivered an angry growl that startled Elissa out of her daze. She tightened her grip on her sword and brought up her right arm to deliver a killing blow to its neck when the thing suddenly shoved itself off the ground, tossing her aside like a rag doll.

The jolt of landing on the ground knocked her sword out of her hand and she again felt the breath knocked out of her lungs. She gasped for air as she lay on her back. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the darkspawn loom over her, and the shadow of its mace flitted across her face as it was raised once again overhead.

Some primal survival instinct flared alive in her, and not since she'd been cornered in her bedroom by an armed intruder had Elissa felt such an all-consuming imperative to _survive_, no matter what it took to do so.

She didn't think—she was guided purely by blind panic. She dug her right hand into the marshy Korcari soil and grabbed a wet clump of mud that she flung with all the force she could muster directly at the face of the hurlock.

It landed with a satisfying smack, clogging the small slits the horned helm had for eyeholes. The darkspawn staggered back, stunned by the sudden blindness.

She launched herself to her left, toward where she thought her sword had fallen, and scrambled around in the long grass looking for it for a few seconds before kicking it with her foot. She snatched it up with a grateful gasp, only to turn around and just narrowly avoid the wild swing the darkspawn made with its mace in her general direction.

She rolled back to her right again and prepared to dodge but saw instantly that the darkspawn was confused. She could tell by the way it cocked its head to the side that it really couldn't see much at all out of its helm, and she was struck with a sudden and exultant triumph. She was going to _beat_ this thing, she realized for the first time with a gleeful sneer. They were fighting a battle to the death and she was going to sodding _win it._

She glanced around quickly for something to throw and found a fist-sized rock. She crouched, careful not to make any sound, before tossing the rock past the darkspawn to its left.

Just as she planned, the monster started toward the sound, swinging its mace wildly as it did. She knew she only had a few seconds to act, so even before the thing had completed its first careening step in the direction of the sound she started moving, one goal intent on her fevered mind.

She was going to stab this foul creature in its blighted back.

She remembered her conversation with Alistair and felt utterly foolish for ever having doubted the practicality of it. Honor had no place in her survival, _especially_ not where these mindless, disgusting creatures were concerned.

It was only a few light steps and she was upon it, thrusting her sword with all her might into the gap underneath the armor on its back. She was shocked at how easily the blade sliced through the flesh and muscle, and she'd plunged the thing in almost to the hilt when she realized she'd fully impaled the creature.

Her success was short lived, however, as instead of falling to the ground with a thud like she'd envisioned, the creature gave out a gruesome howl and whirled around, wrenching the sword out of Elissa's grasp before she could pull it back out.

She was almost too shocked to scramble away as he lunged at her in a few steps that belied what she _had_ to believe was a fatal wound. She slipped and fell in the mud with a thwack, having to scrabble on her hands and feet backward in a crabwalk to get away from the beast that was still lurching at her.

Finally, the thing stopped and fell to its knees before collapsing face down into the muddy grass and lying completely still.

Elissa panted painfully from all the exertion of the last few minutes. As she stared at the black blood that began to seep in the mud around the darkspawn, she noticed how it seemed to taint and rot the very earth itself, turning the grass all around the creature a sudden dull shade of brown.

As her breathing slowed Elissa started to feel chilled. At first, it was just the fading heat of battle nerves—the come down from a battle to the death. But as she stared at the blood seeping into the ground a simple realization came to her that chilled her more than the cold Korcari wind ever could.

A manic part of her brain wanted to laugh at the absurdity. It was all so bloody _obvious_. As someone who'd studied poisons only to learn their antidotes, she should have seen it right away. It was shameful that she hadn't.

She knew now, exactly why they were collecting the darkspawn blood, and how the Grey Wardens got their powers.

Maker's breath, they were going to _drink_ it.

* * *

_Author's Note: I've told all you readers that I love you right? Well, it won't hurt you to hear it again! Thanks again to everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed. _

_I am hopeful that future updates will come a little more quickly. I've had two bouts of illness and a bunch of stress since the last chapter, so this one took me far longer to get out than I'd anticipated. _

_I also had a fair amount of writer's block, which was no fun. This project is the most ambitious one I've ever attempted. I've never written a ton of action scenes before, and now it feels like I'm writing them all the time! It's a challenge, since most of my other fics have consisted of two people having a conversation, and not much more. It's been a learning process though, and I hope it's entertaining. _

_Thanks again! I swear we will get out of the Korcari Wilds next chapter (spoiler alert, it'll be called _Drink_ so I think you can deduce what happens next)._

_Until next time!_


	8. Drink

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 8: Drink_

_I know everything you don't want me to._

—_Poison and Wine, _The Civil Wars

"Don't get too attached," some of the older wardens had warned him.

"Don't bother learning their names," others had said even more bluntly.

They sounded callous, Alistair supposed, but he had understood their intent. Any new recruit's chances at surviving the Joining were dicey at best. It only made sense to remain a little detached—to not get _too_ invested.

But the advice was utterly meaningless to him now, though it sprang to mind unheeded as he raced through the Korcari Wilds after Elissa's mabari. His legs and lungs ached from the effort, but he couldn't let himself slow down. There was a woman . . . a girl, practically, being hauled off Maker knew where by a darkspawn, and it was all his fault.

And though he knew it went against the general spirit of equality he felt inherent to the Warden's philosophy, the fact that she was a young woman? It mattered. It made it so much worse. Maybe it shouldn't have, and maybe he was antiquated and patronizing in his thinking, but when he imagined being too late to rescue Elissa, it did something awful to his insides.

It wasn't fair, but he supposed he couldn't help it. He'd always imagined himself to be a chivalrous fellow, if given the chance. He never had been given one, of course. Damsels in distress were nowhere to be found when he first began to think about girls and imagine such things. But, when the walls of the monastery closed in on him, and when he thought of the sterile loneliness of his future, it had always been so easy for him to conjure up romantic fantasies where he was the knight in shining armor, rescuing grateful ladies from the clutches of evil monsters and men.

The daydreams lacked the stomach curdling terror, he realized. Also notably absent? Failure. Dead women strung up by their necks by foul beasts or taken underground to the Deep Roads to have Maker knew what done to them . . . no, that little bit of realism was left out of his childhood fantasies.

Not that he thought of himself as a knight in shining armor now, of course. He was no knight, and his armor was decidedly unshiny. Nor was Elissa quite his vision of a damsel in distress, either. Other than being pretty, she really had nothing in common with the sweet yet defenseless maidens of his adolescent fantasies.

It was true that she lacked the melee combat ability the rest of them took for granted, but she was far from helpless. As far as Alistair was concerned, she deserved to be a Warden based on sheer pluckiness alone. Add to that the fact that she was smarter than the rest of them put together? Yeah, hardly a fainting flower.

Still, he couldn't help picture how _small_ she looked compared to the rest of them, how awkward she seemed to be in her leather armor out here in the Wilds. He imagined how frightened she must be, not knowing where she was going or if anyone was coming to rescue her . . .

_Maker, just let me find her,_ he prayed as he ran. All of her awful questions and observations about him didn't seem nearly so annoying now that he had to contemplate finding her corpse.

* * *

When he actually _did_ find her, after rounding a bend and skidding to a halt at the sight of her, he couldn't keep himself from for falling to his knees in a breathless slump in front of where she knelt in the mud, covered in blood. Her mabari hound hovered protectively at her side, having led Alistair straight to her.

"You're alive," he said in a hoarse voice. Now that he'd finally stopped moving, after what had felt like hours, the pain in his lungs sharpened. He'd been running at almost a full out sprint for far longer than he'd thought himself capable.

"So are you." Elissa's voice was low and full of something Alistair was too exhausted to recognize at the moment. After she spoke Prince made a low whine in his throat and stared at him, and Alistair had to blink dumbly for several seconds before he could begin to piece together what happened.

He looked around. Just to his right, the body of a hurlock alpha lay face down in the mud, a pool of its own blood forming underneath it. He turned back to Elissa and for the first time noticed the sword that lay across her lap. She gripped its pummel with her right hand, which was covered in mud up to the elbow.

"That's right," she said, before he could speak. "I killed it. All by myself."

It hurt to breathe, and his heartbeat was still thundering in his ears, so he thought at first that he imagined the bite in her tone, but then he looked at her face and saw her scowling at him.

"Ok?" he asked after a few more seconds of blinking dumbly at her.

"_So_," she said, irritation dripping from her tone like water, "you were _wrong_ about me. I'm not going to die out here in the Korcari Wilds." She glared at him in defiance.

His eyebrows screwed together in confusion. "I never said that!"

"You didn't have to," she spit at him. "It was all over that _. . . face_ of yours."

The way she paused and said 'face' made his cheeks burn like they were on fire. _What the hell did that mean anyway?_ He opened his mouth several times to start to say something, only to shut it, at a loss for words. Finally, he shook his head. "Look, I have literally no _earthly clue_ what you are going on about, I swear. But right now . . . I'm just happy you're alive. If it's just the same to you, I'd like to take a look at that brilliant head of yours and make sure your brains aren't leaking out of it. If I have your permission?" He held up his hands in a supplicating gesture. "Please?"

Elissa continued to give him a hard stare, while Prince moved his massive head back and forth, looking at the two of them. Alistair got the distinct impression that the hound was torn between his loyalty and his concern for his mistress. The hound gave out a low whine and stared at Elissa, and Alistair felt an unexpected rush of gratitude that the hound seemed to side with _him. _Surely, she would be reasonable.

But of course, she wasn't. "No," she said shaking her head and frowning. "I'm fine. I drank a potion." She started to stand, but her face went deathly white and her eyes started to roll back in her head.

He reached out with alarm, grabbing her by her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. "Stay with me, Elissa." The hound must've truly been on his side now, because he allowed it without reprimand, again filling Alistair with a weird sort of relief and gratitude. Maybe the hound wasn't so bad after all.

She grabbed at his arms and steadied herself, before glancing up at him with a guilty look and slowly sinking back down to sit in the mud. She let go of his arms and sat up straight. Taking a deep breath, she looked at him again and gave a curt nod.

Relief washed over him as he reached for his water skin. She could pester him with whatever crazy questions she wanted to once he saw to her injuries. He wasn't about to let her fall unconscious now—the amount of blood smeared onto the side of her head and hair told him that she'd taken a pretty nasty blow.

Head wounds were tricky—you could think someone was alright, and then they went to sleep and never woke up.

"I'm going to pour this over that gash in your head," he said. "It might sting."

"It's alright. Go ahead."

He took off his gauntlets, pulling at the fingers with his teeth, and then took the cap off his waterskin. Leaning forward, he took hold of her chin with one hand before lifting the waterskin above her head and slowly pouring it down the side of her face.

She squeezed her eyes shut and gave a hiss of pain as the water ran down, but she didn't try to pull her head out of his hand.

It felt strangely intimate, lightly touching the side of her face to spread the poultice over her wound. The gash ran from just above her right temple to end in the middle of one thick dark, eyebrow. He thought it might leave a scar, and opened his mouth to say so but, realizing that he didn't want to upset her, snapped it back shut.

As he worked, he puzzled over her accusations, wondering what it was that had gotten her so upset with him. He was too relieved to find her alive to let it bother him much, however and besides, she'd obviously been through a lot and had a head injury to boot. He had half convinced himself that it was just the mad ravings of a frightened, injured girl lashing out at the nearest target when she spoke up again.

"You should admit it," she said. "You _did _think I was going to die out here."

He stopped applying the poultice and looked at Elissa, and just then became aware of how close their faces were . . . which only made the moment more awkward, considering the scowl she was throwing at him.

He looked away and sat back on his heels, wiping his hand on the grass. After a moment he looked at her again and frowned, shaking his head at her. "No, I _didn't_."

She stared at him, examining his face—looking for Maker knew what—until her expression changed. "You're telling the truth," she said, looking at him in wonder before she turned to look at the body of the hurlock alpha that lay near them.

It was a bit like watching the sun come up at dawn, he would later think, seeing that look come over Elissa's face. It _should_ have filled him with dread, he realized after the fact, but it was hard not to get caught up in _her_ face, and how beautiful it was when she was delighted with herself in the light of her inspiration.

"It's the Joining," she said in a whisper, turning back to look at him. "It's fatal isn't it? Or it can be, I mean? That's it isn't it? That's why you kept giving me that look. . ."

There was the hint of smile playing on her lips and her brow had lost the scowl Alistair was beginning to think lived there permanently, but it was hard to enjoy her sudden change of demeanor when all he could think about was how she most emphatically _was not supposed to know that._

"You got all that from a look?" he said weakly, knowing the joke wouldn't deter her but helpless to come up with any better response. He avoided looking at her and started putting his supplies back in his pack.

"Yes," she said, in all seriousness. He risked looking up at her. Yep. The scowl was back. "You should better learn to school your face."

And that was just absurd enough to make him bark out a laugh. He shook his head. "I should . . . _what_?"

"I can tell everything you think just by looking at your face," she said coolly. "You should work on that."

Still chuckling, he rolled his eyes and started to stand up. "Thanks for the advice," he said with a smirk, only to find the serious look she gave him next took his breath away from him again.

"I know what the darkspawn blood is for."

He sank back down with a thud, feeling his breath leave him in an audible whoosh. Staring at her looking back at him so defiantly . . . and he realized that _of course_ she had figured it out. It was absurd to think she wouldn't.

He couldn't think of a single thing to say and so he sat there staring at her and said nothing, just waiting for her to confirm what he already knew she knew.

"We're going to drink it, aren't we?"

"Yes."

They were both surprised at his ready answer. She looked at him with her mouth framed into an 'O' for a few seconds before she went on in a rush. "That's how you get your immunity from their corruption—and that's how you sense them. You drink it, and it changes you. Makes you more . . .like them, or something."

It was getting kind of cold, kneeling there in the mud. They should get up, head back and find the others, some distant part of his mind intoned. But he was stuck . . . it was as if the Korcari mud had glued him to the ground.

"Yes," he said again, watching her. She was clearly taken back by his readiness to answer, but what was the point in trying to hide it anymore? She'd figured it out, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

She frowned at him for several long moments before turning to the body of the darkspawn and biting her lip. "But you must mix it with something," she said—more to herself than to him, it seemed.

"Lyrium," he provided, and she again turned to look at him in surprise. "And Archdemon blood. And some other stuff I don't know about."

He thought for a moment she would ask him why—why now provide answers when before he would only obfuscate? But she apparently thought better than to question it.

"You went through this Joining ritual?" she asked, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah."

They sat there in a long silence contemplating each other. Finally Alistair shrugged at the darkspawn. "So are you going to get your vial or what?"

Slowly she reached into her bag and retrieved the small vial. She held it in her palm, rolling it back and forth a few times before looking up at him again. "How many in yours?"

He didn't have to ask what she meant. He couldn't return her gaze, however. "There were three of us."

"And how many . . . did anyone—"

"One of us didn't make it," he said quietly.

He heard the breath she gave out at that, the long exhale that turned into an audible sigh. "One in three," he heard her whisper.

And then, the _worst_ possible thing in the world happened.

Elissa Cousland started to cry.

He felt the blood drain out of his face and his mouth went completely dry. Funny, in all the advice he'd heard before meeting his recruits, not a single warden had told Alistair what to do when a pretty girl burst into tears in front of him.

He was completely out of his depth. He looked at Prince in a helpless appeal, but the hound just lay there, resting his head on his paws and looking to _him_ with those big, sad puppy dog eyes.

As if Alistair knew what to do and could make it better.

Elissa was a mess, burying her face in her hands and shaking with full body sobs. He felt an overwhelming impulse to do just about anything get her to stop crying, but he had little experience with the tears of pretty girls. Instinctively he wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around her, but he barely knew her! And she was prickly and standoffish at the _best_ of times. The gesture seemed a far too familiar one for someone like him to pull off.

The last thing he wanted to do was make things worse.

He watched her for several painful seconds, paralyzed with indecision. In the end he decided that it came down to this: was he the type of man who could sit still while a young woman cried in front of him or wasn't he?

He reached out and grasped one of her shoulders, and it felt small and delicate under his too-large hand. Still, she seemed to calm at the contact, and he took that as an encouraging sign. He gulped, and then gave her shoulder a tiny squeeze. "Don't . . . don't cry," he said lamely at last.

She gave a few hiccuping breaths and removed her hands from her face, staring down at the ground in front of him.

"You must think I'm such a coward," she said in a voice of quiet misery.

He stared at her open mouthed in shock. Elissa? A _coward_? No, he'd never describe her as such, not in a million years and he started to tell her so, but he stopped himself instead and just looked at her. Suddenly, all the fear and self-doubt that had hid just beneath the surface of her know-it-all bravado seemed so glaringly and painfully obvious. Stupid for him to have missed it.

He gave her shoulder another squeeze and bent his head down to try and catch her gaze. "You know," he said, once he caught it. "That wasn't just an ordinary darkspawn that you killed."

Her curiosity warred with her hostile attitude for a few moments as she looked at him, before she finally gave in and said, "Really?"

His lips formed a half smile. He let his hand drop to his side and gestured with his chin at the corpse. "Yeah, they're like their leaders. They're tougher . . . stronger, more intelligent than the other ones." He nodded at Elissa. "And you killed one. All by yourself. So, no. I don't think Duncan made a mistake in recruiting you."

He didn't think he imagined the blush that crept up her cheeks at his words, and it gave his heart an unexpected little leap. _Maker_'s _breath_, he was failing miserably at the whole not-getting-invested thing, wasn't he?

Before she could answer, he reached in his pocket and fished out a piece of metal. He looked up to see her watching him, and gave her a crooked smile as he leaned forward, holding out the charm in his hand. "I found this . . . I knew you were alive."

She extended her hand and he pressed the metal into her palm. She gave a soft snort of laughter, rubbing her finger over the little charm. After a moment she took a deep breath and looked up at him, giving him her first friendly look since he'd found her sitting here in the mud.

"I used one of these on it," she said, sounding strangely shy.

"Really?" he said, rising to his feet and then extending a hand to her. She looked at it, and then at his face, seeming to consider him a moment before grabbing it and rising to her own feet.

"Yes." She took a few steps over to the darkspawn and stared down at it. "Do you want to hear how I did it?" she asked, not looking up at him.

Her cheeks were _definitely_ turning a fair bit pink, he couldn't help but notice. "Sure."

She told him as she filled her vial with the darkspawn's blood and he collected his things. At first she spoke haltingly, but by the time they'd started walking back to the others she had become more animated, even reaching out and touching his arm at one point.

"I don't know how I was able to do it," she said, sounding honestly baffled but also a bit proud. "But I just . . . I just always knew where not to be, and so I wasn't there when the mace landed."

"Nice work," he told her, and he meant it. As confusing and frustrating as their reunion had been, seeing her eyes shine as she told him about her clever escape was pretty rewarding, Alistair decided.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "For snapping at you earlier . . . about your face."

"You know, you keep talking about my face like that . . . I'm going to develop a complex."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, I don't mean it like that." She rolled her eyes. "I just mean . . . you have an expressive face, and it's not . . . it's not a bad thing to be guileless."

He just looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "Guileless?

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "Guileless just means honest. Basically you lack the ability to lie—"

"I know what guileless means, Elissa," he interrupted. He found himself more amused than insulted, however.

"Oh. Yes, of course you do. How silly of me." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She rubbed her neck and looked up at the sky, an expression of helplessness etched over her still blushing face.

He had to suppress a smile. "It's . . .it's fine. I've just never heard myself described that way, is all."

"Really?" She looked up at him, honestly surprised.

"Yeah, well at the monastery where I grew up . . . that wasn't exactly my reputation." He flashed her what he hoped was one of his most mischievous and disarming grins.

"Oh yes, the monastery. _Of_ _course._" His didn't miss the way she said that, and an odd but sudden dread overtook him. "You shouldn't feel guilty about it. You can't help it."

He gave a big, resigned sigh and returned his gaze to the forest in front of him. "And what exactly can't I help?"

"You haven't spent a lot of time with women your own age, have you?"

He had thought he was prepared for any bizarre question she might throw at him at this point, but this one surprised him enough to make him choke out a cough. After he recovered he shook his head. "I . . . no, most of the sisters at the monastery were much older," he explained, not really sure why_._ Obviously she had some point she was going to make, and he guessed it was just easier not to fight it. It's not like staying quiet would stop her. "And there aren't any women in the Grey Wardens," he added.

She gave a curt nod. "Yes, a topic you seem to be a bit obsessed with."

"I . . . I'm hardly_ obsessed._ I mentioned it once—"

"—to wonder at their lack, yes I remember. It's rather obvious though isn't it?"

Apparently they'd stopped sometime during this little discussion, but Alistair didn't remember when. He shook his head and tried not to laugh—he wasn't even sure why he found her so funny. It just struck him as deeply amusing that his damsel in distress had turned out to be quite this annoying, he supposed.

"What's rather obvious?" He found himself honestly curious.

She gave a shrug. "Fereldens may boast of their battle maidens, but at the end of the day fathers are less inclined to send their daughters to battle than their sons, aren't they?" Her voice got quiet again at the end, and it reminded Alistair of the tragedy she'd only just been through. It was disturbingly easy to forget—so much about her was odd or amusing—but he needed to remind himself that she was still in mourning.

"I guess that's true."

She sniffed and he caught her surreptitiously wiping away a tear. "It's why you're so concerned about me. You're not prepared to watch a woman die in front of you."

She said it plainly, without accusation, and Alistair couldn't help but shrug. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling exposed. It was weird having her read him so completely.

"It's alright," she said. "It's kind of nice actually." She took a deep breath and went on. "I won't tell the others," she said. "About the Joining."

"That's. . . . thank you," he said, and they resumed walking. After a few more minutes of silence he risked a glance at her. She looked lost in her thoughts. "Wouldn't it be easier not to know?"

She shook her head. "No, knowing is always better. Now that I know what it is I don't have to waste time thinking about it. Besides," she said, looking at him out of the corners of her eyes. "You learned a valuable lesson."

He saw a little twinkle in her eyes at that. "I did, did I? What lesson did I learn?"

"You learned you can't keep secrets from me," she said, and her smile grew into a mischievous—and very disarming—grin of her own.

They had stopped again. At this pace, they would never reach the others, he thought numbly. But, he found himself a bit lost in her smile at the moment, so he didn't really care. He hadn't been paying attention to the meaning of her words, however, and was caught completely unaware when she leaned over and looked at him from beneath her lashes. "You don't have any more secrets to hide, do you?"

Finally, what she said sunk in and he couldn't help the look of astonishment that came over his face—his eyes went wide and he hurriedly looked away, but hearing the little gasp _that _elicited, he knew he'd just given himself away.

"You _do_!" Her voice held a note of triumph in it, and when he looked at her again she was staring up at him in wonder, the delight at discovering he was hiding something else plainly evident in her wide shining eyes.

He looked away and stifled a groan. "I don't know what you mean," he said with a voice that sounded unconvincing even to himself.

"Yes, you do," she said in a singsong voice, before she apparently caught his helpless expression. "I'm sorry," she said, her tone abruptly changing to one of remorse. She held up her hands in placating gesture. "I'm sorry . . . I'll just, try not think about it."

"You will?" He gave her a doubtful look and she shrugged.

"I mean, I'm _going _to figure it out," she said, and if it hadn't been his secret they were discussing, he supposed he would have found her breezy confidence amusing again. "But I'll try to delay it as long as possible."

The look she gave him with that was pure sincerity, and then he did laugh, unable to stop himself. "I suppose that's the best deal I can get, is it?"

She didn't seem offended by his laughing, but smiled up at him and gave a little nod. "It is. I'm glad you're being agreeable."

"Right," he said, drawing out the word and looking at her in amusement. "Because I'm the one who has been so disagreeable."

She went on like he hadn't spoken. "And I promise, when I figure it out, I won't tell anyone else."

He snorted a laugh and shook his head, before turning back to her. "You know, I don't have some deep dark secret," he said. "It's . . . it's no big deal. It's nothing _bad—_"

"Oh I know," she said with a shrug. "You're perfectly harmless."

He pretended to be offended and put his hand over his heart. "_Hey_, I can be dangerous."

"I know," she said, stepping up to him and pressing her hand onto his. She gave it a little squeeze before inclining her head and looking up at him under her lashes. "But not to me."

She walked away and he stared after her a moment, unconsciously rubbing his fingers over the top of his hand where he'd felt her fingertips press.

* * *

If Alistair had any interest in learning how to "school his face" he could find no better teacher than Elissa Cousland, he realized soon after watching her rejoin the others. She was true to her word, and acted for all the world like she didn't know anything about the secret ritual. He had to hand it to her: she knew how to keep a secret.

She acted differently in other ways, too. He watched as she confidently related her escape to the other two men (leaving out some of the details and enthusiasm she'd included when she told him, he couldn't help but notice) and then proceeded to lead them the rest of the way to the treaties. Somehow, in such a short amount of time, the group dynamics shifted so that the three men found themselves turning to Elissa to speak for them when the Wilds woman appeared and told them the treaties were gone.

He'd been agitated at their removal, and deeply suspicious of the Wilds woman, but Elissa's lack of patience intersected nicely with her quick mind, and she briskly negotiated the return of the treaties from the woman's old mother. It was impressive how aggressively she got the two women to get to their respective points, and Alistair couldn't help feeling thankful that she'd come along.

"So what do you think about those two?" Daveth asked.

Alistair looked up to see both Jory and Daveth staring intently at Elissa, as they walked away from where Morrigan had left them. He smiled at how the two men seemed to hang on her answer. Whatever she told them, they'd believe it as the Maker's given truth, he realized.

He supposed he would too.

She just gave a shrug. "Apostates, certainly. Beyond that? Who cares?" she answered, and they all let the matter drop, content that she was right and that the two women didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

It was easy for him to forget the tearful girl he'd found in the Wilds when she stood before Duncan and the rest of them, so self-assured and peaceful as the Warden Commander explained the details of the Joining ritual.

In fact, he didn't even realize that all that confidence and bravado had again been just a mask until he watched as she raised the cup to her lips, eyes darting to the bodies of the two men who'd died before her.

It cracked, finally, at first with just a stutter of emotion, before fully dissolved into pure panic and blind fear. She licked her lips and looked from Duncan to Alistair several times, not quite able to bring the cup up.

Alistair started to sweat. He'd been confident that she wouldn't balk at this, but as he watched her descend into fear he wondered if he'd been wrong.

"Elissa," he hissed and her eyes snapped to his. "Just drink it." His tone was gentle but insistent.

She kept her eyes on him and took a deep breath before lowering her lashes to look at the cup. She raised it up and he thought for sure she would drink it then, but she stopped and his heart lurched in his chest.

He couldn't help glancing at Duncan. The Warden Commander stood still as stone beside him, his own face an impenetrable mask. One hand rested lightly on his sword, but he made no move to draw it—not yet.

He turned back to her to find her staring at him. Before he could urge her to drink again she spoke.

"Alistair, if I don't make it . . . please . . . please tell Fergus about Howe? And . . . my shield?" She pleaded with him, her eyes twin pools of misery.

He gave her a smile, though he knew it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll tell him yourself," he said. He wasn't sure he believed it but felt happy for saying it. It seemed the right thing.

She took another deep breath and then brought the cup to her lips and drank.

Alistair held his breath.

* * *

_Author's note: In case anyone is curious, yes this story's title comes from the song quoted at the beginning of this chapter. It's a great song (and the rest of the Civil Wars album is great too) especially if you like their kind of country/folk vibe. _


	9. Secret

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 9: Secret_

_If I show you then I know you  
Won't tell what I said  
'Cause two can keep a secret  
If one of them is dead  
_—_Secret_, The Pierces

She _lived_.

Her utter relief and surprise at this particular fact allowed her to feel a moment of acute happiness. It was as unexpected as it was brief—almost as soon as Alistair (he had smiled in relief, she couldn't help but notice) had given her an amulet with a pendant full of darkspawn blood in it, Duncan informed her of two more surprising things, killing her good mood before it really got started.

The king was holding a meeting about tactics for the upcoming battle. He had requested her presence.

Also, the battle would be that very night.

Elissa could only stare at the two wardens in front of her, feeling completely defeated. She was going to die tonight after all.

* * *

Elissa couldn't _think_.

This was a problem, as she had quite a few things to think about, and none more pressing than the battle plan laid out by Teyrn Loghain.

She tried to concentrate—tried to envision the battlefield using the map spread out before the king as her guide. She saw where the Teyrn's men would be stationed. She saw the Tower of Ishal, where the beacon would be lit. But her eyes kept straying back to the middle—the front lines—where the king said that he and the Grey Wardens would fight.

_I need more bolts. And poison. More traps. Potions . . ._

She wasn't ready for this. It didn't take military training to see that their position would see the most dangerous fighting in the entire battle.

How could she expect to survive this? She couldn't. There was no way . . .

"—send Alistair and the new Grey Warden to make sure it's done."

Elissa's gaze focused and she looked up at the king sharply. Did she hear him right? He wanted her and Alistair to light the beacon?

She became acutely aware of the entire meeting's collective gaze falling on her. For the first time since she'd arrived, she noticed the presence of a Circle mage and a Revered Mother. _When did they get here_? Maker, she was thinking so slowly. This wasn't like her. She swallowed and tried to appear braver than she felt. _Duncan must have told the king about me_, she realized with a jolt. This was a great kindness—keeping her out of the battle, with an escort no less.

She felt suddenly guilty. "If it's not a dangerous task, I can do it myself," she said, her voice sounding thin and shrill to her own ears.

The king straightened. "No, it's best if you both go."

She felt suddenly warmed by her overwhelming relief. She would spend the battle flanked by Alistair and Prince. The idea made her feel ridiculously grateful. Before she could figure out how to thank the king, Loghain spoke up. "You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. Is that truly wise?"

Cailan was having none of Loghain's doubts. "Enough of your conspiracy theories, Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the Blight, no matter where they're from."

There was a distant part of her mind that blinked awake at the words "conspiracy theories" but her relief had the same effect as an elixir, dulling her faculties and disallowing more thought than was required to stand there in grateful but obedient silence.

She could still observe, however. She saw the flicker of annoyance that danced over Loghain's face at Cailan's reprimand.

Her heart leapt to her throat when the mage stepped forward to volunteer his Circle's abilities for the beacon lighting task. Fortunately the Revered Mother interrupted, thundering her disapproval. Elissa couldn't help feeling grateful at the Chantry woman's absurd prejudices—if she wasn't needed for lighting the beacon, she'd probably end up on the front lines—but she had the grace to feel a little guilty about it.

"Enough! This plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon." There was something there, in the way Loghain said _Grey Wardens_ . . . she could hear it but not identify it.

She put it out of her mind as they went on about the glorious battle to come, too relieved to care much for the interpersonal drama that was evidently playing out between the king and his father-in-law.

She had to practically jog to keep up with the long strides the Warden Commander made on the way back to the Warden campfire. As they walked, Elissa glanced around the camp and noted how different it looked from when she had arrived. _Had that really only been this morning? _It seemed a lifetime ago, but she hadn't even had a day to get used to the idea of being a Warden before she was thrown headlong into meetings over tactics and special assignments.

It all felt a little surreal.

So it was grounding, somewhat, to see Alistair's friendly smile when they finally made it back. She was a little out of breath but she returned his smile gratefully, thinking again how lucky she was to have him as her fellow Warden. He'd been nothing but kind to her since she'd met him, and after a little bit of wariness Elissa had come to accept that he was generally what he presented himself to be.

_Save for one little secret . . . _She forced the thought out of her mind as Alistair stepped forward to greet them. She had promised, after all.

"Here," he said, handing her a shield.

She took it and had to blink several times at it before it registered. "This is my shield . . . the Shield of Highever. You got it back?"

He shrugged off her wide-eyed astonishment. "I scrounged up enough coin and loot from our trip through the Wilds to barter for it."

She stared down at the shield in her hands with her mouth open, struck speechless at his generosity. He barked a laugh and she looked up to find him grinning down at her. "What?" she said, feigning annoyance.

"It's just nice to see _you_ with that look on your face, for a change," he said.

"Whatever," she said rolling her eyes, and then turning serious. "This was . . . really very kind of you. My brother _will_ repay you—"

He raised his hands in a gesture meant to cut her off. "We'll worry about that later. I just thought you might like to have that back."

"Yes, that was very thoughtful," Duncan cut in, and they both turned their heads to look at the Warden Commander. He stood in front of them with his hands held together behind his back—an official looking stance and expression to let them know it was time to pay attention.

They both stiffened and turned to give the Warden Commander their attention.

"You heard the king," Duncan said, nodding at Elissa. "You and Alistair will go to the Tower of Ishal and ensure the beacon is lit."

Alistair's reaction was immediate. "What?" he sputtered. "I won't be in the battle?"

Elissa gripped the shield in her hands and looked at the ground. She hadn't thought about how _Alistair_ might feel about this assignment. It was stupid of her not to have seen it. Of course, he would want to be on the front lines with the rest of the Wardens he'd known as brothers for half a year, rather than spend the battle babysitting some helpless noblewoman who pestered him with annoying questions.

"This is by the king's personal request, Alistair. If the beacon is not lit, Teyrn Loghain's men won't know when to charge." Duncan's tone was gentle, but firm.

Alistair wasn't so easily cowed, however. "So he needs two Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch. Just in case, right?"

Elissa was a little taken aback at Alistair's impudence. "Let me guess," she said, cocking an eyebrow up at him. "You got in trouble for insubordination a lot in the Chantry, didn't you?"

He looked down at her for a second and Elissa thought he was going to be cross with her, but then he barked out a laugh and raised his own eyebrow back at her. "How'd you guess?"

Duncan interrupted their exchange. "We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn . . . exciting or no."

Alistair heaved a dramatic sigh. "I get it. I get," he said, waving his hands in surrender. "Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no."

"That's a _highly_ unlikely request," Elissa said, in all seriousness.

Alistair looked at her uncertainly for a second before laughing again and shaking his head. "I happen to be quite fetching in a dress."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Duncan, but her lips still twisted into a half smile of their own accord. She was relieved that he was able to joke about it, in all honesty. She had been worried that he would resent her for keeping him out of the fight.

Duncan gave a loud and long-suffering sigh before shaking his head and getting back to business. He explained the specifics of their mission: the tower was just beyond the great bridge near the entrance of the war camp. They'd have less than an hour to get there and light the beacon, once they saw the signal from the troops on the front line that they were ready for Loghain's charge.

Once he confirmed that they were ready he bade them goodbye. "Remember," he said, again in the gentle but stern tone he had, "you are both Grey Wardens. I expect you to be worthy of that title."

Elissa could only nod mutely in response. She still wasn't quite convinced she _was_ worthy of that title, but she felt for the first time a real sense of urgency that she _become worthy_ of it, somehow.

"Duncan . . . May the Maker watch over you," Alistair said with uncharacteristic solemnity.

"May He watch over us all."

They both stood there a few moments, watching Duncan stalk away from them, until Elissa turned to him. "Alistair—"

"Let's just get to the tower," he interjected, looking over in the direction of the bridge they would have to cross. "It may not be the most glamorous job, but we'd best not dawdle."

He started to walk away, but she reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped and looked down at her, a flash of irritation flickering across his features.

"I just want a quick word," she said, letting her hand return to the shield she held in front of her. "Please."

He pinched the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before pulling his hand away and fixing her with a calm but resigned expression. "Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. What do you want to ask me about?

She knelt down and placed the shield at her feet, trying to think of what to say. The words seemed to stick in her throat. She was never that good at apologizing.

"I'm . . . sorry," she said as she stood back up. She went on in a rush, looking at her feet the whole while. "I know you'd much rather be with the other Wardens on the fr-front lines . . .but I just . . . I wanted to let you know that I'm sorry you're forced to look after me, but I'm incredibly grateful to have you along."

He was silent for several seconds after her outburst. When she finally glanced up he seemed to rouse.

"Oh," he said. "That." He turned away a moment, and then looked back at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Don't worry about that. It's not your fault. Really." With that, he seemed to consider the matter closed. "Shall we? If we stick around here too long you won't be able to swing a dead cat without hitting a darkspawn." He gave her a crooked grin and gestured in the direction they had to walk.

Elissa blinked up at him. There was something here. Something . . . in the way he said that, just then. "You sound awfully sure of that," she said, watching him closely.

His eyes widened ever so slightly at her flat tone only to narrow again at her a moment later. He stared back at her and she at him, until their stares turned into a standoff of some kind, with neither party willing to blink for several seconds.

And then Alistair sighed again, and she knew she was on to _something_. Just then, one of the last rays of sun managed to escape the grim, ever present Korcari clouds to filter down across his face, bathing him in golden light.

"Oh, oh my god," she said in whispered awe. The way the light played on his hair, it looked like a golden crown. The resemblance was unmistakable. "You're Maric's bastard!"

At her outburst Alistair's eyes went wide for real, and he looked around before taking a step closer to her and grabbing her by the arm. "A little louder, if you would? I think there are some soldiers on the other side of camp that didn't hear you!"

Elissa felt her cheeks grow warm at his unbridled irritation. She wasn't used to people speaking to her that way. "I'm sorry!" she snapped, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "I tried not to think about it! I honestly did. It's not my fault you look just like him." She looked up at him in awe again. "I mean really! If you grew your hair out . . . you two could be _twins_."

"That's . . . no, that's _not_ . . . we don't look that much alike!" Alistair was turning his own shade of red, Elissa couldn't help but notice.

"Yes, you do!" She insisted, stepping closer. She turned her head to the side and tried to lean around him to scrutinize his face. "I mean, your profile is almost _exactly_ alike!"

She was near enough to him to feel his breath on her face when he sighed in exasperation. "It is not," he said, glaring down at her. She saw by the way his jaw worked that he was clenching his teeth together.

She took a step back and shrugged. "I don't understand why you are so upset. King Cailan is widely regarded as being quite good-looking by Fereldan standards."

She didn't know why, but that didn't seem to make him feel better. He shook his head at her in mute anger before turning deliberately away from her.

"It's true!" she said, moving so that she stood in front of him again. She made a wide gesture with her arms. "Ask any woman in this camp if they find the king physically attractive, and I'll bet you ninety-percent—"

"Enough!" He raised his hands up. "Please, just . . . _stop_."

Her mouth snapped closed and she looked at her feet. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

After a few seconds she heard him exhale noisily. "It's fine. It's not your fault. Look, we can talk all about my thrilling parentage later if you want, but for now, let's just stick to our mission, alright?"

She nodded. "Of course," she said, and he turned to go. She bent down to pick up her shield and then stood.

_This connects._

She froze at her own inner voice—sometimes it felt like it came from somewhere else, but Elissa knew it was really just some deeper, more attentive part of herself. There was a part of her mind that, no matter what she was doing, or saying, or _feeling_, was constantly sifting through her observations to find connections that others might miss. "Wait."

Alistair turned to look at her, irritation warring with curiosity on his face. "What is it now?"

She went very, very still. She couldn't quite bring herself to answer—not yet. She had to think.

_You rely on these Grey Wardens too much. _Another voice in her mind. She'd caught the note in the Teyrn's voice when he'd said _Grey Wardens_ but she hadn't had the chance to properly interpret it. Until now . . .

Now she remembered. He'd said Grey Wardens in _exactly_ the same tone of voice he'd used when he said _Orlesian._

The air around her seemed to chill in an instant. She was overwhelmed with a feeling—she hated to categorize it as such, but there was no mistaking the sensation she experienced as anything but strong emotion.

It was trembling anticipation . . . almost dread. She was just about to figure something out.

Something big.

She only had to open herself up to it, and the connections would be made. As she stared at Alistair, she realized that it began and ended with him.

"Does Loghain know?" she asked in a whisper.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Elissa, I don't know. It's not relevant. Can we please just—"

"I will decide if it is relevant!" she screeched at him. She sounded _crazy_, but she had to make him understand that this was important. "I'm sorry," she began again in a steadier tone, and looked up at him with an earnest look. "Please, Alistair. You know me . . . well you don't know me at all, not really, but I think you know me enough to know that you should probably listen if I tell you something is important."

He stared down at her. After a moment, his shoulders drooped and he gave her a resigned nod. "Alright, fine. Does Loghain know? I don't know. It's fairly likely. He and Maric were friends after all."

She had to assume he knew. She felt her heartbeat speed up as the links became clearer. She licked her lips. "Alright, you said you were recruited six months ago? Was there a tournament?"

He frowned at her and looked like he might object for a second before he decided against it. "Yeah," he said curtly.

"And did you _win_ this tournament?" Elissa asked.

His mouth set into a grim line and he crossed his arms. "I don't like what you're insinuating," he said. "That Duncan only recruited me because of who I am—"

"Did you _win this tournament_?" Elissa repeated, fire flashing in her eyes.

In the face of her agitation he relented. "No," he said at last, turning and not meeting her gaze anymore. The part of her that would feel guilty about that felt distant and remote—she was too focused to trouble herself at the Templar's hurt feelings. At least for now.

She frowned as she looked around the war camp, trying to follow the thread she knew was there. "So Cailan," she said, thinking aloud, "a man who by everyone's description cares only for glory and honor on the battlefield, actually has the forethought to protect the line of succession in case this battle doesn't go as planned."

"No," Alistair spoke up heatedly. "I mean, maybe. But I don't think that I'm really in line—"

"Shhhh!" she shushed him violently, knowing that she appeared even crazier than before, waving her arms and practically spitting everywhere, but she had to get him to _stop talking_. "I need to _think_. Be quiet!"

She was numbly aware that he glared down at her but she ignored him. "Alright, so maybe Cailan isn't as vainglorious as he appears," she went on to say breathlessly to herself. She started to pace a few steps from where she stood and back. "He also kept Eamon's troops in reserve—a move I thought indicated bravado, but maybe it's a type of caution as well. If we fail here, there would still be men left to continue fighting . . ."

She stopped in her tracks and frowned at the ground. "But Cailan doesn't really believe this is a Blight." She remembered both Loghain and Cailan's dismissal when Duncan had brought up the possibility of the Archdemon appearing during the battle. "So, if Cailan doesn't believe this is a Blight . . . what is he afraid of?"

Alistair groaned. "Elissa, please, if you're attempting to find any logic at all within that man's brains, you're going to be sorely disappointed."

She stared at him, not really paying attention to the gist of what he was saying. She heard the word 'brains' though . . .

The original mystery of hers . . . her recruitment. Why did Duncan want her brainpower? What did Cailan fear?

"Conspiracy theories," she said aloud, feeling the color drain from her face. She felt like she should drop into a boneless pile at her feet, the sinking feeling she experienced was so intense.

Alistair looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Conspiracy theories?"

Her certainty felt like a lead weight in her gut. "Oh my god," Elissa whispered. "It's Loghain."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's _Loghain!_" she said again, practically shouting. She turned around wildly, not really seeing anything as she spun. "We have to find the king! And Duncan! We have to warn them!" She grabbed at her head, balling her hair into her fists.

Alistair grabbed her by both arms to stop her. "Elissa! What in the . . .what are you talking about? Warn them about what?"

She let go of her head and grasped his shoulders. "Don't you get it?" she hissed. "Loghain is going to betray us _all!_"

Alistair stared down at her after her proclamation, and she could only imagine how outrageous she must look, all wild-eyed with her hair askew. "You're insane," he said, as if confirming her thoughts.

"Let me explain," she said, letting go of his shoulders and trying to collect herself. He released her arms and stood there watching her. She began again, trying not to talk too quickly. "Loghain loathes and fears Orlais more than any other threat to Ferelden—including the darkspawn. He doesn't know what we know. He doesn't realize the Blight is really upon us."

Alistair crossed his arms across his chest. "Go on."

She took a deep breath. "Duncan told me . . . and you yourself said that the Wardens haven't exactly received a warm welcome since they were allowed to return." He nodded his agreement on that point and she went on. "There are many that still view the organization suspiciously, given the reasons they were kicked out of Ferelden in the first place—"

Alistair twirled his hand in a circle. "I know this part, Elissa. Get to the part where Loghain betrays us," he said under his breath, sparing a quick glance around.

"Alright . . . during the meeting with the king, I noticed how suspicious Loghain seemed about the Wardens. When he objected to you and I lighting the beacon, the king told him he'd had enough of his 'conspiracy theories'."

She looked at Alistair and waited for him to make the leap. When he just continued staring at her she gave a frustrated sigh and went on. "Conspiracy theories!" She said. "Don't you get it? Don't you see? This is why I was recruited . . . to ferret out just this kind of betrayal!"

She stepped closer, pleading with her eyes for him to understand, to _listen_. The more she talked, the more convinced she became. "Loghain thinks the Wardens are in cahoots with Orlais!" she said triumphantly.

Alistair remained utterly unconvinced. "That can't possibly be true . . ."

"It is! I _know_ it is. Think about it. Cailan asked Orlais for assistance in battling the Blight . . . but Loghain doesn't think the Blight is real. He thinks the Wardens are plotting with Orlais to get their hooks into Ferelden again!"

He just continued to look at her doubtfully. "And what does the _foreign_ Warden Commander do?" She pointed a finger at his chest. "He recruits another possible heir to the throne! How do you think that looked to Loghain?"

For the first time Elissa thought she saw doubt in Alistair's expression. "Elissa . . . this is just . . . this is just crazy talk," he said, but without conviction.

Elissa pressed further. "No! It's not. You _know _it isn't. Think now: if Loghain believes the Wardens are a threat, do you think he'd let that threat remain?"

"No, of course not," he said in a guarded tone.

Encouraged by even that modest appeasement, Elissa went on breathlessly. "Think about the tactics for this battle: if Loghain remains hidden from the darkspawn under cover, what's to stop him from just . . . retreating when we give the signal?"

Now he really did look troubled. "And what? Just leave the rest of them to die? That's his son-in-law down there!"

Elissa shook her head. "You didn't see them arguing at the meeting. There is bad blood between them. I know it. Loghain thinks Cailan is going to give the country away to the Orlesians—"

Just then a straggling group of soldiers hurried by and when they heard her words their heads turned as one to look at the two of them. She snapped her mouth shut, but Alistair still stepped forward and hissed at her. "Keep your voice down! You want to get arrested for treason?"

She grabbed his arms and tried to shake him to see sense. "We have to warn them! We have to get to Cailan and Duncan before it's too late—"

"And what are we going to tell them?" He looked at her incredulously. "You don't have proof of a single thing!"

_Maker_, he had a point. She didn't have a lick of actual evidence. She only had her convictions.

"I'll . . . just have to explain it," she said weakly, and let go of him once more.

Alistair laughed mirthlessly and her face truly fell. This couldn't be happening_. Not again_.

He must have noticed her distress because he stepped forward, suddenly looking less disagreeable.

"Elissa," he said. "You _can't_ be right. I know you've convinced yourself of it but . . . look what you've been through. Maybe you're seeing betrayal and conspiracy everywhere . . . because of that."

She inhaled sharply. His words disturbed her. She couldn't dismiss them automatically like she wanted to. Maybe it was true . . . maybe she was just being paranoid—.

_No._ She was certain. She set her jaw and looked up at Alistair resolutely. "Nothing happens in a void," she said. "Maybe Howe's betrayal wasn't an isolated incident. Maybe it's the first of many betrayals."

She could see that her words did not have the effect she'd hoped for. He continued to look at her doubtfully. After a moment, he shook his head.

"Look, even if I did believe you—which I _don't_, I just want to make that clear—" he ignored the way she glared at him after that, and went on confidently. "Even if I did though . . . it's too late to get a message to the king. The Horde is coming and the armies are all already in place."

Her mouth hung open at his words, shocked at both the simple truth Alistair spoke and the fact that it was _him_ who had pointed it out, and not her. Maker, was she not thinking clearly? But if he was right . . . if they were already too late . . .

"Look," Alistair shook her, getting her to stare at him with eyes that were filled with sudden tears. "Right or wrong, we _have _to light that beacon," he said. "If we don't, then _we're_ the traitors. Do you understand?"

He was right. Of course, she had been right too, but she was right too late.

Again.

_Thousands will die._

She blinked away tears and nodded determinedly at Alistair, before turning and sprinting back to the mabari cages, not even looking to see if Alistair followed her. They'd spent so much time talking she barely had any time to fetch Prince from the kennel.

There was no way she was going on this mission without him.

They were likely all going to die tonight, but at least they'd die together. She could take cold comfort in that fact, at least.

_Maker watch over us all, _she prayed.

* * *

_Many thanks to Riptide Monzarc, for the thoughtful comments provided on both my babbling brainstorming and this chapter. And thanks for reading!_


	10. Signal

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 10: Signal_

_I'm sorry I can't help you, I cannot keep you safe  
__I'm sorry I can't help myself, so don't look at me that way  
_— _Falling is Like This, _Ani Difranco_  
_

The war camp was emptier than Alistair had ever seen it. In the weeks he'd spent at Ostagar he'd never known the place _not_ to be teeming with people: soldiers, merchants, smiths, mages, Templars, and Chantry sisters all made the camp their home in the past month. But with the battle imminent soldier and civilian alike abandoned what had once been the epicenter of an army's worth of activity, leaving it disturbingly quiet and spooky-looking in the last of the evening's light.

In spite of the urgency the camp's emptiness inspired, neither he nor Elissa could keep themselves from stopping when they emerged from the ruins to the sight of the whole battlefield laid out before them from the top of the bridge.

It was awe-inspiring, seeing so many of Ferelden's countrymen in one place, here to defend their home and their lives from the horrifying scourge of the Blight.

It _couldn't_ all be for nothing. Elissa had to be wrong about Loghain. She just had to be.

He couldn't bring himself to tell her again, however. As the orange glow of the approaching horde moved closer, bringing with it the guttural shouts of the darkspawn below, Alistair spared a glance to the girl beside him.

She was staring out at the battlefield with a look somewhat worse than apprehensive, but not quite the stark terror he'd seen from her before. He supposed he could be grateful for that at least.

"Come on," he yelled, drawing her attention from the fighting below. "Let's cross the bridge and get to the tower."

She nodded and took off, and once again he was running after her and her mabari.

When they reached the halfway point the first of the enemy's projectiles hit. A flaming pile of rock (_since when did the darkspawn have catapults?)_ hit the bridge. Fortunately it broke against the low wall that topped it, and he and Elissa were merely thrown to the ground, rather than completely pulverized. He helped her to her feet and they stumbled onward, Prince barking wildly alongside them.

They'd only just stepped off the bridge when they were confronted by two figures running in the opposite direction: one was a man in soldier's garb, the other a female Circle mage.

"You!" the mage said, and the two figures careened to a stop in front of them. "You're the Grey Wardens aren't you?"

"In the flesh," he said, putting a hand on Elissa's back and attempting to guide her around the two people in their way. "We'd love to stay and talk, but we've got a mission and we're on a bit of a deadline—"

The soldier stepped in front of them. "If you're headed to the Tower, don't. It's been taken!"

He heard Elissa gasp next to him. "Taken? Taken how?" he barked.

"The darkspawn came up through the lower chambers! They're everywhere! Most of our men are dead!"

Elissa gripped his arm painfully. "There are darkspawn in the tower?!"

The Circle mage spoke up with an unexpectedly wry tone. "Aren't darkspawn normally your area of expertise?" She was a willowy brunette, who regarded them with a skeptical expression.

He didn't have the time or the inclination to explain. "We have to get to the beacon and light the signal fire. Will you come with us?"

"Of course," the soldier said automatically, but the mage hesitated and threw her glance toward the bridge.

"If you're thinking of escaping, you'll only delay your death," Elissa said, stepping forward and glaring up at the mage. "If we don't stop the horde here the Blight will engulf all of Ferelden."

Alistair winced his eyes shut. This was just what he needed now—to piss off another mage. Yet when he opened them he saw the woman regarding Elissa with a thoughtful expression of her own. Maybe Elissa's accusation hadn't come out of the blue?

He didn't want to think about Elissa being right all the time.

"Well isn't this nice and ironic?" the woman finally said, more to herself than to them it seemed. She shook her head and muttered, "dammit Neria."

"Who is Neria?" Elissa asked, screwing up her eyebrows in confusion.

The mage glared at her a moment, but didn't answer her question. She addressed Alistair instead. "Fine. I'll help."

Elissa frowned up at the tall woman and said in an accusatory tone, "Where's the Templar who should be watching you, anyway?"

_Oh Maker._ He looked over at the mage, expecting a fiery reaction. The woman's face was inscrutable, however. "He died," she said calmly, leveling an even gaze at Elissa. "Along with many others."

Elissa considered this a moment and then nodded. "As luck would have it, Alistair has Templar training." She nodded in his direction. "So, you shouldn't feel worried about succumbing to the temptations of a demon. Alistair will be able to smite you if you do."

"_Elissa_!" he hissed. But the circle mage gave a snort of laughter.

"Oh, well, _that's_ a relief," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. But she didn't seem as mad as she might've. _Imagine that: mage with a sense of humor. _Maybe there was a Maker, after all.

Still, they were wasting time. "Great, that's settled then," Alistair said, forcing the cheeriness into his voice. He turned to Elissa and grabbed her shoulder to get her to look at him. She did, eyes widening in surprise. "You stay back with the mage, keep anything from getting on her, alright?" She nodded her understanding and he went on, his hand still squeezing her shoulder. "If something does get through, you can lead it away . . . back to me, understand?"

"I understand," she said. He could see the fear in her eyes again, but he didn't have the words to reassure her. He felt it too.

He turned to go but she stopped him, pulling on his arm. "Elissa," he started to protest, but she dragged him a few steps away.

"We should consider getting you out of here," she said in a low voice so the others couldn't hear. "King Cailan intended to keep you safe—"

His eyes grew wide when he realized what she was proposing. "Stop. Don't say another word." He pointed a finger under her nose. "You are not even supposed to _know that_," he said, surprising even himself at the venom in his voice. "Don't bring it up again." Once the rush of anger left him and he saw her shocked expression he felt a little guilty, but there wasn't any time for it now. "Come on," he said, turning on his heel to go.

Again she grabbed his arm. "Alistair, _wait!"_

He whirled around to face her. "What is it _now_?"

She looked deeply distressed, he couldn't help but notice, but it didn't stop her from speaking all in a rush. "It's my shield," she said, gripping the thing in her hands. "I can't carry it and load the crossbow. I know you have your own shield but I was hoping that you might—"

Before she could finish he unceremoniously, and with more force than was strictly necessary, tossed his Chantry shield aside. It landed on the stones with a clatter, and he turned back to Elissa with his arm extended. "It'd be an honor to wield your family's shield," he said, partly because it was true but mostly because he had a hunch it was the quickest way to end this conversation and get on with their business.

He was right. She gratefully handed the thing over and then they were moving as one down the path to the tower. They found a group of soldiers fighting a pitched battle with the darkspawn aside a blazing bonfire near the entrance to the tower.

The taint was singing in his blood as he crashed into the enemy, Prince and the soldier right behind them. Elissa hung back with the mage, and he could hear the distinctive twang her crossbow made each time she fired, reassuring him that she was handling the enemy alright on her own.

The Circle mage's magic made an enormous difference. She could heal and shield them, as well as paralyze and stun enemies both with direct spells and with the use of glyph magic. He recognized the glowing symbols around him and took care not to trip her magical traps.

"Alistair!"

He bashed the face of the genlock in front of him with his shield, sending him wheeling into the other soldier's blade, and whirled around to see Elissa running straight for him, a hurlock alpha hot on her tail. She was almost to him when he saw the darkspawn catch up to her with its long strides.

"Get _down!_" he shouted, and to his great relief Elissa obeyed in an instant, sliding to the ground in front of him. He leaped over her, bringing his shield up to knock the darkspawn's axe aside. The hurlock lurched over and Alistair swiftly brought his sword down in a violent slash that separated the creature's head from its body.

He heard Elissa get to her feet behind him. "That was amazing!" she panted, and he turned to see her gazing up at him in something akin to awe. Any other time and he would have blushed at that kind of attention.

Now, he started shouting frantically, instead. "_Maker's breath_! What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn't supposed to be any resistance here!"

Before Elissa could respond he heard a sardonic voice behind him. "You could try telling them they're in the wrong place." The female mage emerged from the gloom, smirking at the pair of them.

"Right," he said dryly. "Because _clearly_ this is all just a misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later."

She snorted a laugh, but then Elissa stepped forward and said in all sincerity, "I highly doubt that." She gave Alistair a knowing look. "Don't you think this is a bit suspicious?"

"What are talking about?" he said, anxious to get on with their task.

"You said so yourself. These darkspawn shouldn't _be _here." She waved her arms and then gave him a significant look.

He looked down at her incredulously. "You've _got_ to be kidding me! What . . . you think the darkspawn and Loghain are conspiring _together_ now?"

"You have to admit, it's suspicious—"

"That's ridiculous! You really are seeing conspiracy theories everywhere—"

"What the _hell_ are you two talking about?"

Alistair felt his stomach drop. They were having this conversation right in front of the mage. He was an idiot.

"Never mind," he said abruptly, glaring at Elissa and hoping she got the point. When she simply scowled back at him without responding he assumed she did. "The important thing is that we get to the top of this tower and light the beacon."

The oppressive heat they faced once they threw open the doors to the tower made them all gasp. Even in the small entryway, they could feel the heat from the fires the darkspawn had set. As they emerged from the small room they could all see that the monsters had erected a flaming barricade in the center of the wide, circular hall. Alistair could sense at least a dozen darkspawn lurking in the center of the room.

He started to rush forward, but Elissa suddenly placed herself right in front of him, and he crashed into her. She pressed up against him and hissed, "Stop!" before shoving her crossbow into his hands. "Trap!" she shouted by way of explanation, before crouching and darting forward.

He hurried after her and took aim at the darkened shapes behind the bright flames. It was too hard to see, but he fired anyway, hoping the distraction provided Elissa the cover she needed. "Stay back," he yelled to the others, as they came up behind them.

Elissa knelt to deal with the thin wire he most certainly would have tripped over if not for her, and then he felt the gathering of magical energy. It was coming from the center of the room. _An emissary!_

The magic closed in on itself and then shot toward them. He lurched forward, hooked an arm around Elissa's waist and pulled her backward forcefully, but they only just missed getting hit in the face with the blast of the enemy's fireball. As it was, the impact sent them flying, and Alistair found himself lying under Elissa once the smoke cleared.

"Are you alright?" he managed to choke out. Wide green eyes were suddenly very close to his, and he became acutely aware of the weight of her body lying flat against him. She seemed to realize it in the same instant, for she flushed and rolled off of him in a huff.

Another blast of magic rocked the entryway to the tower and he struggled to get to his feet, helping up Elissa. "Everyone, get back!" he shouted, and they all hurried back into the small room.

Elissa grabbed the crossbow and dragged the mage by the arm up the steps, positioning herself on the opposite side of the narrow hall.

He flattened against the wall to the left side of the door and readied his sword and shield. The other soldier did the same on the right. Prince remained in the center of the room, barking wildly until Elissa yelled at him to heel. He ran back to her side and an instant later the darkspawn darkened the door.

Alistair and the soldier were able to get the jump on them from their position on either side of the small entrance, and Elissa and the Circle mage took care of any that managed to get past them. In a matter of minutes the entrance way was filled with darkspawn corpses.

"That emissary is still out there," Alistair said. "Along with three, maybe four others. Let's go."

He felt the mage envelop him in a shield of magic, allowing him to race up to the emissary and engage it without feeling the arrows or magic spells that were slung in his direction.

Prince burst past him at a frantic pace toward the archers. Alistair jabbed the emissary with his sword, burying it in the darkspawn caster's gut, before whirling around to see the mabari tackle one archer, while the soldier hacked at a second. The mage traced a pattern in the air and rings of light encircled the third archer, and it froze. Elissa raced up to it and shot it at point blank rage in the head.

The darkspawn were all dead but they hadn't escaped the battle without a few injuries. Alistair's hand received a nasty gash, and the soldier had an arrow protruding from his arm.

"We need to get the arrow out," Elissa said, kneeling next to the man, who was propped up against the wall. "Mage, save your mana. I have healing potions they can use."

Alistair ground his teeth together. "Elissa, she has a _name." _ He turned and looked at the mage apologetically. "At least, I assume so? Sorry, didn't catch it before."

The woman smirked and then gestured for him to sit. He sunk to the floor next to the other man and she knelt down next to him, reaching into her pack for bandages. "Solona," she said, and then set to work on bandaging his hand.

"Garrond," the soldier next to him said through gritted teeth.

"And I'm La— . . . I'm Elissa." Alistair looked up to see her regard Garrond with a sympathetic look. "Pleased to meet you and I'm very sorry." With no further warning, she yanked the arrow out of the man's arm, eliciting a howl of pain, before quickly pressing a poultice soaked bandage against his arm.

Alistair shook his head at the brusqueness of her bedside manner. He faced the mage. "Nice to meet you. I'm—"

"Alistair," the mage supplied. At his inquisitive glance she shrugged, but before he could ask how she knew him, Elissa was at his side, yanking on his other arm. "Alistair!"

"What?"

"I like this room." At his blank stare she went on. "There are more darkspawn on this floor, right?" He nodded. He could feel them close by, but she couldn't sense the darkspawn. Not yet. "I want to lure them in here."

He looked around and saw what she meant. The barricades would provide decent cover, and the wide open space would allow them all to maneuver more easily around enemies. "Alright, but how—"

"I'm going to move that trap from the entrance over to that doorway." She pointed to where she meant, standing and walking purposefully toward the center of the room.

Solona finished bandaging his hand and he scrambled after her.

"The mage can station herself here," she said, indicating behind a statue the darkspawn had desecrated in the middle of the room. She turned and looked up at him, and after a few seconds he realized that she was waiting for his permission to get started.

"Do it," he said, feeling the knot in his stomach twist. How did he end up leading again?

Elissa sprinted to the other side of the room, frantic to get to work. Alistair took a deep breath and looked around.

"So what's her story?" Solona stood next to him, watching Elissa work with a hooded expression.

Now that she stood right next to him he noticed that she was nearly as tall as he was. "What do you mean?"

"I thought Grey Wardens were recruited for being exceptional warriors," she said, glancing significantly in Elissa's direction.

Alistair couldn't stifle a sigh. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. "She seems to be holding up alright," he managed after a few seconds.

Solona snorted. "Right. Look, even I can tell she's green as hell . . ."

He turned to face her. "Yeah and where did you learn to fight like that anyway?" he asked.

"Oh it's a riveting tale, really," she said airily. "Filled with deception, betrayal . . ." She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "not to mention blood magic and forbidden _sex_."

Alistair snorted a laugh. "Sounds like a hell of a story."

"Yeah, it is," she said, straightening up and fixing him with a serious look. "And it's also entirely off subject, so don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Alistair stared at the woman for a few heartbeats, before giving a frustrated sigh. "Alright, fine, she's not a typical recruit, but she's got other . . . skills. You'll see."

The mage shrugged as Elissa returned from having set up the trap. "You do know the fireball spell, correct? I believe it's in the primal school of magic," she asked of Solona, without preamble.

Alistair stifled a groan. "_Elissa_."

"Yes, I'm aware of what school of magic fire spells come from," Solona said, her lips formed into a wry smile.

Alistair found himself feeling absurdly grateful that the woman had apparently decided to find Elissa amusing, rather than offensive. "Are you sure you're a mage?" he blurted out, and she looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. He glanced at Elissa and then muttered under his breath, "or a woman?"

The two women stared at him blankly. "What?" Elissa said, scowling.

"Never mind," he murmured.

Solona snorted at his discomfort. "You'd have _never_ made it as a Templar," she said, before turning back to Elissa. "I can summon fire, but not at a great distance. Sorry. Primal isn't really my school."

Elissa glared up at her and Alistair feared that she might snap at the mage in her disappointment, but she seemed to accept the mage's explanation after a moment. She started taking off her pack, and unbuckling the sword at her hip.

Alistair felt a rush of anxiety when realized what she intended. "What are you doing?"

"You know what I'm doing," she said, not looking up at him. She set her crossbow down against the statue in the middle of the room and looked back at them. "Ready?"

Alistair stepped up to her. "No, not ready," he said, glowering down at her. "This is way too dangerous—"

"_Don't,_" Elissa said in a low tone, a dangerous glint in her eye.

He ignored it. "Don't you _don't_ me," he said. "This is crazy dangerous. You should let _me_ bring them—"

"_You!?" _Elissa's voice raised an octave with incredulity. She shook her head. "No way. You'll trip the trap on your way back and blow yourself up."

He wanted to be insulted at the absolutely certainty of her tone, but deep down he knew she was probably right. Still, he protested. "You can tell me when to jump," he said weakly.

She crossed her arms. "They'll sense you. They won't sense me yet, will they?"

He felt a shameful urge to just flat out lie to her and tell her the darkspawn would be just as likely to sense her as him, but the truth was he only got the weakest sensation of her tainted blood himself. It would be days before she had to worry about the darkspawn sensing her.

He had paused long enough to know he couldn't pull off the lie, so he finally relented. "Fine," he said, waving his arms at her. "But for the love of the Maker, be _careful._"

She didn't give him a second look before darting out of the room.

The sixty-odd seconds they waited for her to make it back with enemies in tow felt much, much longer. Alistair waited with his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Finally she burst into the room with a small horde of darkspawn behind her, taking a running dive over the trap and landing with a graceful roll after she cleared it. The darkspawn hit the trip line a second later, and the trap exploded, engulfing the enemy in flames. He felt a swell of pride that Elissa had executed her plan so well, and then he was lost in the haze of battle, trying to breathe through the fire storm Elissa and Solona wrought through trap and magic.

The noise from their battle was enough to draw every darkspawn on the floor to them, eventually, and his lungs burned from both the exertion and all the smoke as they fought their way through the rest of them. The room did in fact prove to be an advantage. Elissa and Solona were able to attack from cover, and any darkspawn that did get past Alistair or Garrond were quickly brought down by Prince or a well-placed crossbow bolt.

After the fighting they rummaged through the first floor, Elissa breaking open chests to find the odd potion or poison, or who knew what else in the supplies left behind by Loghain's men in the tower.

They found a giant hole in the floor in the hall near the entrance to the second floor. Alistair gave a low whistle.

He heard Solona sigh next to him. "Yeah, it sucked."

They made their way to the next floor, and he again had reason to feel like a proud mentor as he watched Elissa become more comfortable fighting. She was more aggressive than she had been in the Wilds, using the crossbow's lethality at short range to her advantage. It took a special kind of guts to get up close to a monster with nothing but a ranged weapon, Alistair figured, and during one break in the fighting he told her as much. "You're doing great, Elissa," he said under his breath. "Keep up the good work."

She looked up at him in mild surprise, and then gave him a little shrug. "I just keep thinking we'll probably die no matter what we do."

"And that helps?" he asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest her words inspired.

She gave another shrug. "Apparently."

On the second floor he was caught flat footed when she sprinted ahead of him, making him nearly screech in protest. But he hadn't seen what she had—a ballista. She jumped up to it and immediately fired, taking out several darkspawn with the powerful weapon.

"Alright," Solona said with a sidelong glance at Alistair. "We can keep her."

He snorted a laugh in response before readying himself for battle. He and Garrond cut down the enemies that made it past Elissa's deadly ballista, and soon the second floor was clear of darkspawn as well.

On the third floor, she pulled the same move _again_. He could do nothing but watch as she ran ahead of him, even though he had _just_ told her that she needed to stay behind him, she didn't _listen_—

And then he saw her kick a lever over, opening the cages of a half dozen mabari war hounds, which immediately joined the fighting on their side, and his reprimand died in his throat. With the additional help from the mabaris, they killed the rest of the darkspawn on the third floor with little problem.

"That's it," Solona said. "That's the top level up there." She pointed up a short set of stairs that lead to a massive oak door.

The whole party was panting heavily at having come this far, but Alistair could not let them rest. "Come on," he said, and started running up the steps.

"Alistair, _wait_." Elissa's voice had a tone to it that filled his heart with dread. He turned around to see her glaring up at him, her hands in fists at her sides. "Before we continue, they should know the truth."

_Maker_, _no_. Not this. Not _now_.

"Elissa, _no_," he pleaded, but he saw Garrond's and Solona's curious faces and knew it was too late to stop what was happening. He felt like crying in frustration. They were _so_ _close._

Elissa didn't mince words. She told them it all, quickly and without flourish. It wasn't a detailed description of her theory, but more of a summary of her suspicions and conclusions. "I have no proof," she admitted calmly at the end. "But I know I'm correct."

Alistair hated that certainty he heard in her voice, and for a moment it made him hate her a little, too. If she were right . . . He shook his head. "She's not," he said aloud, surprised at the confidence in his voice. "All due respect to Elissa, I believe she's wrong." She looked up at him guardedly, but didn't seem angry. He felt a little guilty for so blatantly contradicting her, but he went on anyway. "Look, you want the truth? The truth is there is a big, nasty darkspawn on the other side of this door." It _was _true—the vibration in his blood spoke to its enormous size. "But it doesn't matter, because I'm opening this door in five seconds, with or without any of you. Whoever wants to come with me, be ready."

He turned away from Solona and Garrond's shocked faces, and started his count. He heard Solona give a deep sigh. "Why do it then? If it's all for nothing."

Elissa made a little hum of disagreement. "We have our orders. But you and Garrond, you could get out in time . . . "

Garrond cleared his throat. "I'm with the Templar. You're nuts if you think Loghain would betray the king, and I'm not abandoning you all."

Alistair felt a rush of gratitude to have the soldier with him, regardless of Solona's response. He didn't wait to see if she would abandon them or not, however. He'd waited long enough.

He finished his count and opened up the door.

He was distantly aware that they all followed him as he ran into the room, but he forgot his companions completely as soon as he saw a shockingly large, horned darkspawn bite off the head of the man it held in its gigantic, clawed hands.

"It's an ogre!" The five of them froze in horror for a few precious seconds as the creature turned toward them and bellowed an ear-splitting roar.

And then his battle instincts kicked in, and Alistair gave a roar of his own before charging. A warmth overcame him and he realized it was Solona's magic. All of a sudden he felt extraordinarily powerful. It was a heady sensation of invulnerability, and he let it propel him into smashing into the ogre with his shield.

He shouldn't have been able to, but his assault pushed the creature back. For a moment it felt like this was a battle that they could win. Garrond joined Alistair to fight the beast alongside him, and the two warriors managed to keep its attention while Solona and Elissa harried it with ranged attacks. Prince attacked the monster's legs, delivering vicious bites to the creature's boulder sized thighs and calves.

And then Elissa moved behind the beast and threw her fire vial at it. It burst upon the thing's back, burning through metal and flesh and causing a putrid smoky stench.

The monster howled in pain and whirled, intent on finding the source of this new threat. Elissa started to sprint away, but her legs were puny, short things compared to the ogre's. The beast charged and caught up to her, scooping her up like a rag doll in his giant fist.

Alistair screamed and made his own charge at the ogre. But Solona's magic must have faded, for it seemed like he was running in slow motion. The creature squeezed Elissa in its fist and she shrieked in agony.

"Solona! Do something!'"

Finally he felt the mage concentrate her magic and throw it at the beast. Rings of light encircled the monster and it froze, paralyzed by the spell.

Elissa slid out of the creature's grasp and onto the floor with a thud. Solona hurried to her side, but Alistair was intent on finishing the ogre off. He somehow managed to draw upon every ounce of spare energy he had to propel himself into a running leap at the creature.

The ogre reanimated as he landed, but it was too late. Alistair drove his sword deeply into the creature's neck, burying it to the hilt before twisting to sit astride the now stumbling ogre's shoulders.

He yanked his sword out and then reversed his grip and plunged it into the monster's skull. It fell forward and he leapt to the ground, landing gracefully as the ogre crashed to the floor with a rumbling echo.

"That was amazing," Elissa said in a breathless whisper as Solona helped her to her feet. The look of wonder she leveled at him took what breath he had left away, and he couldn't help the smile that crept up his face.

There was a twelve year old version of Alistair that wanted to scream at him that _this_ was what he'd been waiting for—killing fearsome monsters and eliciting just such a look from a lady like Elissa—but he allowed himself only a moment to bask in Elissa's admiration before the urgency of his mission overcame him again. The smile fled his face. "We have to light the signal!"

He grabbed a torch from the wall and dashed toward the beacon. The wood must have been treated with some kind of oil because it ignited in a violent whoosh the instant Alistair threw the torch at it.

He turned around to see Elissa had come up behind him, wringing her hands and looking up at him in worry.

"You're wrong," he said, as gently as he could, still panting and out of breath. He took a step forward. "You'll see. Loghain will come through and we'll—"

He never completed the thought. The doors burst open, and to Alistair's horror first one, then two and then _three_ arrows sprouted from Elissa's chest, red blood blooming like flowers on her chest. She looked up at him with her mouth in a shocked little "O" before slumping to the ground.

It felt like all the air had gone out of the room. A tortured scream wrenched out of his lungs as he stared in anguish at Elissa's lifeless body before him. It was too much, having to finally watch her die right in front of him, after all this . . .

He whirled to face the darkspawn that swarmed into the room, screaming again, his face wet with tears and his heart aching in sudden misery. He dove at the darkspawn with a savage fury, and cut through several of them with a rush of violent strength fueled by grief and rage. Even in his enraged state he realized that it was over. There were far too many of them—

A brilliant white light flooded the entire top of the tower, blinding him and making him stumble backwards. He screwed his eyes shut and felt the most powerful magical force he'd ever encountered overtake the entire room, before everything went black and he saw and felt no more.

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks again for everyone who is reading and reviewing. Special thanks to Riptide Monzarc for beta-ing this chapter for me as well._

_Included in this update are revisions to Chapter 4. I decided to add back in some scenes that I had previously decided to cut, so if you're inclined to read more and want to see Alistair and Elissa's first meeting, head back to Chapter 4 for some new content._

_Thanks again!_


	11. Plan

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 11: Plan_

_I found you in pieces you've been torn apart  
__A million one reasons to end before you start  
_—_Btsk, _MS MR_  
_

She thought she had avoided this.

Her one solace since realizing that her recruitment had been an utter failure was that she would pay for it with her life. That certainty had propelled her through the tower with Alistair, freeing her from the ever-present fear she'd felt since arriving at Ostagar only the day before. Knowing that she would die for her mistake had taken the sting out of her guilt.

But she hadn't died, after all. She listened as the Wilds witch told her what she already knew—that Loghain had retreated and left the King and all the other Grey Wardens to die. She felt the walls start to close in around her as she thought about all the lives that were lost—lives that she could have saved if she'd been more focused, if she'd been smarter . . .

Her face crumpled and a mournful sob escaped her. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them, burying her face in her arms. The Wilds woman broke off her speech and Elissa felt the woman's strange amber eyes burning into her, but she couldn't look up at her. She heard Morrigan's _tsk_ of disgust, and knew that she was making yet another terrible mistake, breaking down like this in front of a woman as seemingly shrewd and cold as Morrigan, but she didn't have the energy left to care.

It wasn't _fair._ It wasn't fair that she kept surviving when others, more worthy of it, did not. Her mother, who was so good at _everything_. Her father, who had always been so gentle, so patient. And not to mention Rory . . . sweet, charming, ever faithful Rory, he was dead now too. And all of them had died in her place, to give _her_ a better chance at surviving.

And Duncan, poor, misguided Duncan, he had the delusion that she could help save his beleaguered order. It must have been desperation, she thought, to recruit someone like her when a Blight truly threatened. But he had done it, because he knew there was a threat to the Wardens that was greater than the Blight, and he needed her to fight it.

And she had failed him. She had failed everyone.

Her sobs quieted as she thought back over the last day and a half, and the wide range of emotions she'd careened through, trying to pick apart several mysteries at once. Underneath every emotion terror had lurked. Terror at the thought of losing this oh-so-precious life of hers, she thought now with disdain. Why had she been so concerned anyway?

She was useless as a Grey Warden. Maybe, if she'd had some combat ability, she could have focused more on her observations, rather than her need for survival. She'd been more of a liability than a help. Duncan would have been better off recruiting someone with average intellect and the ability to actually _fight_. Like the mage, Solona . . .

The thought of the Circle mage only brought more grief, as she realized that the woman was certainly dead, along with the soldier Garrond and of course . . . _Prince . . ._

With that thought her tears began anew. She wasn't sure how long she sat in that rickety bed, listening to nothing but the sound of her own choking sobs and the occasional exasperated sigh of the witch who watched her. "Why did your mother save us," she asked after a long while, looking up to glare blearily at the raven-haired woman.

Morrigan coolly ignored her distress and gave a mere shrug of one befeathered shoulder. "I wonder at that myself, but she tells me nothing. Perhaps you were the only ones she could reach. I would have rescued your king. A _king_ would be worth a much higher ransom than you."

_A king_.

Elissa blinked at the swamp witch. They _had_ rescued a king, she realized, and the sharp, practical part of her mind snapped awake, quickly running through all the implications of this interesting fact. Her curiosity was like a balm—a reason to box up her grief and stop torturing herself.

_Alistair is alive._

She had been too consumed with her own misery to focus on her fellow warden when Morrigan had first mentioned him, she realized now with a pang of guilt. But . . . the man who had dragged her through the tower and saved her life so many times . . . he was _alive_ . . . and he was a king, or as near to one as they were likely going to get.

The realization was like a splash of water to the faceand having something to focus on helped her bury the deep well of sorrow within her. She didn't know if it was fate or chance that placed this opportunity in her lap, but she was not going to waste it.

With a new, difficult goal in mind, Elissa was able to bury her anguish and start thinking. She wiped her face on the blanket and then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her vision swam from moving too fast, but she was determined now, with the first half-formed shreds of a plan taking shape in her head.

"I need to speak to your mother," she said once the room stopped spinning.

The swamp witch cast a curious look at her and then stalked over to a small chest and opened it. "I agree," she said, as she reached into the chest and retrieved what looked to be Elissa's clothing and armor. "'Tis time you speak with Mother and be on your way."

Elissa dressed as quickly as she was able, finding it a bit more difficult than she had anticipated. Her entire torso had been bandaged, but she felt specific aches on her left side and under her right breast. Cursory examination with her hands enabled her to locate where the arrows had pierced her skin.

She recalled with a shudder how the arrows had seemed to sprout _from_ her, and how she hadn't even really felt the first one. The rest, though, had come with searing pain. Just before her vision went black she had looked up to see Alistair staring at her with a look of pure horror. She had thought it would end for him soon, too, and then he wouldn't have to worry about it either.

She shook her head to clear the memory from it, and eased herself into her pants and boots. Pulling the chest piece over her head made her gasp in pain, and she had to go at a snail's pace, but she refused to ask for help from the other woman, and the swamp witch didn't offer it. In fact Morrigan paid her no mind at all, but started gathering various food ingredients noisily around the hut.

It wasn't until she was done dressing that she noticed how clean she felt_—_she hadn't bathed in nearly a week, she realized with a flush of shame. Her grief had drowned out such hygienic concerns. But someone, Morrigan probably, had bathed her. Even her hair had been attended to, she noticed as she rubbed a hand over it to find it had been neatly braided. _Not washed, but brushed well._

She started toward the door but looked back over her shoulder when her hand met the doorknob. "Thank you, Morrigan," she said. "For treating my injuries and for . . . well, thank you."

Morrigan looked up from where she had started chopping an onion, giving Elissa a skeptical look before nodding her head. "You are . . . welcome. Though in truth, Mother did most of the work. I am no healer."

With that, she went back to her task, leaving Elissa free to study her. She cocked her head to the side and examined the swamp girl, musing over what the her upbringing must have been like_—_raised away from society, having only her mother to guide her thinking, unfamiliar with the most common social customs—

She shook her head to stop herself. Morrigan presented a fascinating mystery of a person, but she was largely irrelevant to Elissa's immediate needs, and besides—she and Alistair were going to escape this place and probably never see the witch again. It didn't make sense to waste time trying to figure her out.

She had to squint when she left the darkness of the hut, though the sunlight was dimmed by the overcast sky. It looked to be late morning, she guessed by the sun's position. Alistair stood at the edge of the swamp water with his back to her, looking out at the wilds.

"See?" Morrigan's mother stood at a little distance from Alistair. "Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man."

At the old woman's words Alistair whirled to look at her.

She quickly walked up to him, determined to figure out just how dire their current predicament was. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him they needed to get somewhere safe, that they needed to _plan_, but then she looked up and saw his red-rimmed eyes and saw the misery etched into his handsome face. She found herself unable to say anything at all.

He raised a hand and reached out as if he wanted to touch her, but then let it fall slowly, looking at her with wide eyes. "You!" He spoke in a whisper. "You're alive. I thought you were dead for sure."

_I should be_. The thought sprung up, unbidden, and she almost said it aloud before stopping herself with a glance at the old woman. She was watching the two of them through narrowed eyes.

"Duncan's dead," Alistair went on, voice cracked in grief. "The Grey Wardens, even my—even the king . . . They're all dead."

It was harder than she would have expected to see Alistair's sorrow. Here, finally, was someone who could understand what she herself had just gone through, so very recently. "I know," she said quietly. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears at his words, but she kept it together, looking down at the ground at their feet.

Alistair spoke pleadingly. "Elissa, I am _so_ sorry. I should have listened to you. You were right." Her heart started beating wildly in alarm at his words. She understood how he must feel, more than anyone else ever could, but she most emphatically did not want to talk about the fact that they knew about the betrayal ahead of time in front of Morrigan's mother. She spared a glance at the old woman and found her watching them now with a look that was far too eager and curious. She had to stop him from talking before he revealed too much.

Alistair went on, oblivious of the look she was shooting him. "If we had just warned Duncan—"

She did the only thing she could think to do. She stepped right up to him, leaving but an inch between their bodies. He fell silent, looking down at her in confusion before she slid one arm up around his neck and the other around his waist and hugged him into a tight embrace. She tried to pull his neck down to get his ear closer to her mouth so she could whisper in it, but he was so bloody tall, and she was so damn short . . .

He was like a rock. Elissa realized that he had frozen at her touch, apparently shocked by her sudden ambush. It must be awkward for him, what with his lack of experience around girls—

She almost gave up, and was about to pull away when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so tightly to him she could hardly breathe.

It was her turn to be stunned—the intensity of his reaction making her feel guiltier at first, but then she unexpectedly found herself melding into his embrace and holding him tighter, squeezing her eyes shut and fighting back her own tears.

"This doesn't seem real . . ." His breath felt hot on her ear, and the rasp in his throat rumbled across her cheek. "If it weren't for Morrigan's mother . . ."

"Do not talk about me as if I am not present, lad."

They both startled at the old woman's words, and Alistair made to pull away. Elissa remembered her intention and grabbed his neck again, stopping him and forcing his head down to her so she could hiss into his ear, "Don't tell her _anything_ about the conspiracy or who you are."

He didn't let go of her right away, even after she removed her hand and leaned back to look up at him. He stood there with his arms around her, looking down at her uncertainly before finally releasing her with a frown and stepping back, a blush just beginning to creep up his cheeks.

Elissa swallowed a guilty lump in her throat.

"I didn't mean . . ." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to recover. "But what do we call you? You never told us your name."

"Names are pretty but useless things," the old woman said, sauntering closer to them. "The Chasind call me—" At that she stopped herself and turned to Elissa, fixing eyes of dark amber on her. A sly smile formed on her lips. "But no . . . I wouldn't take the pleasure away from you. Why don't you go ahead and tell him my name, oh _Girl Who Knows Everything_?"

Elissa narrowed her eyes at the old woman. She'd started calling Elissa that the first time they'd met. Normally that kind of nickname would have pleased her, but she didn't like the mocking tone the old woman used.

Still, she was never one to back down from a challenge. She looked her up and down, mentally reviewing all she knew about the mysterious woman and her daughter. It wasn't much. They were apostates living in the Korcari Wilds. The mother was certainly powerful to have not only rescued them, but to have healed her wounds as well.

It wasn't much, but it didn't matter. The only truly important clue was that the woman expected Elissa to guess her name at all and that meant it could be only one.

"So . . . you expect us to believe you're Flemeth?" She cocked an eyebrow at the old woman.

"Flemeth" threw her head back and cackled delightedly, but Alistair looked shocked. "_The_ Flemeth from the legends?" he said, looking with wide eyes from Elissa back to the old woman. He let out a breath. "Daveth was right—you're the Witch of the Wilds, aren't you?"

"And what does that mean? I know a bit of magic, and it has served you both well, has it not?"

Elissa and Alistair shared another look. _Right_. Whether she were truly Flemeth or not, she was certainly powerful. "Why did you save us? And what do you want in return?"

Flemeth snorted. "Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn. It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. Or did that change when I wasn't looking?"

Elissa peered at the old woman searchingly, trying to detect if the witch was telling the truth. She didn't _seem_ to know who Alistair really was, given the way she ignored him and addressed Elissa. She almost breathed a sigh of relief but then Flemeth gave another little hum of laughter.

"Trust me, young Cousland. It's your _tainted_ blood that I'm interested in, not your blue blood." Flemeth's gaze flickered for a second to Alistair before resettling on Elissa, a challenge implicit in their depths.

Elissa inhaled sharply. So Flemeth _did_ know who they were after all. Her mind raced, trying to think of what clues she might've given in the short interactions she'd had with the Witch of the Wilds so far.

She supposed that the old woman might've recognized the crest of her shield but . . . Alistair bore it, so she should have thought _Alistair_ was the Cousland, not her. Her mouth went dry, and she was scared at the places her mind traveled. Was Flemeth a blood mage? Or worse?

Alistair, for his part, was oblivious to the little showdown between Flemeth and Elissa. "But we _were_ fighting the darkspawn!" he sputtered out. "If Loghain hadn't retreated, we would have won!" He slashed his hand downward in an angry gesture and Elissa was astonished at the raw intensity of his rage. "I don't care _what_ he thought. I still don't understand how he could do this," he said, looking pointedly at her.

She shot him a warning glare in return, but Flemeth didn't seem to notice. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." The old witch's voice had gone soft. "Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmaneuver. Perhaps he does not see that the evil behind it is the true threat."

"The Archdemon." Alistair said, and Elissa felt her skin grow cold. She didn't like to think about the hideous creature from her nightmare. It had frightened her to her core, and a part of her had been relieved that dying in the tower meant not having to deal with a monster as deeply terrifying as the Archdemon.

But, she hadn't had the good sense to die, so she was stuck facing it after all, it seemed.

Still, in spite of the odds being stacked incalculably against her, having a problem to work through did wonders for her mental state. "This archdemon. How do we kill it?" she turned to Alistair and asked, determination making her voice sound confident, strong.

Alistair's eyes opened wide. "By ourselves? No Grey Warden has ever defeated a Blight without the army of a half-dozen nations at his back." He looked chagrined. "Not to mention, I don't know how." He shrugged at the look she gave him. "I've only been a Warden for six months."

Elissa took a deep breath. _Maker_,_ we are ill-suited for this.._.

Flemeth chuckled again. "How to kill the archdemon or how to raise an army? It seems to me, those are two different questions, hmm? Have the Wardens no allies these days?"

She returned her focus to Flemeth again. The old woman certainly _seemed _sincere in her desire to end the Blight. She _had_ actually been nothing but helpful to them, in spite of her odd speeches and weird intuitions. She might be an apostate mage, or worse (she might even really _be_ Flemeth, for all Elissa knew) but she'd rescued them from the tower, and she had preserved the Grey Warden treaties—.

"The treaties!" she blurted out, inspiration making her shout.

Alistair's head snapped up to look at her, and for the first time since she emerged from the hut, she saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "The treaties," he repeated softly, and then a grin started to spread across his face. "Of course! The treaties! Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're _obligated_ to help us during a Blight!"

His grin was actually infectious and Elissa felt its answer spread across her own face in response. "And don't forget, Arl Eamon still has his troops in reserve!" he said, and Elissa's grin grew even wider. She was just about to mention that herself. "Cailan was his _nephew_. If he knew what Loghain did, he would _never _stand for it. The Landsmeet would never stand for it. There would be civil war!"

Elissa's eyes grew wide, wondering if he realized what civil war would actually mean for _him_. She got the feeling he didn't and she wasn't about to bring it up at the moment.

He went on, sounding more hopeful by the second. "I _know_ him. He's a good man, respected at the Landsmeet."

"You know Arl Eamon?" _But of course, the Arl must be—_

"Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!" Elissa blinked up in surprise at Alistair's outburst. That was . . . a fantastic idea. She knew the Arl. He was loyal to Cailan and politically savvy. Plus, if her hunch about him was right, he would know what to do with Alistair.

_Redcliffe . . . everything came back to Redcliffe. _She shook her head, mentally shelving the nagging idea for the moment. She would save it for later, when the guilt and desperation came back and she would need another mystery to distract herself.

"I may be old," the old woman said, interrupting her thoughts. "But dwarves, elves, mages, this Arl Eamon, and who knows what else . . . this sounds like an army to me."

"So can we do this?" Alistair asked, looking down at her in an expression that was both fearful and hopeful. "Go to Redcliffe and these other places and . . . build an army?"

"Yes," she said, in all confidence, before the pragmatist in her piped up. "I mean, we have to try. But truthfully it's still very likely we're all going to die." She gave Alistair a small shrug with one shoulder.

His eyes grew wide and his lips twitched like he wanted to smile. "Duly noted."

"So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

Elissa turned back to the old woman, giving her one last hard look. Suddenly she remembered that she hadn't yet thanked the woman. It was a superstitious notion she had and she knewit was completely irrational. But, in all the folk tales and legends she had heard, ungrateful guests were the characters who fared the most poorly. "Thank you, Flemeth. For all that you've done for us," she said.

"No, no," the old woman scoffed, waving a hand at her. "Thank you! _You_ are the Grey Warden here, not I. Now. . . . Before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you."

"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests of the eve, or none?" Morrigan appeared at her mother's side, drifting her yellow-eyed gaze indifferently from her to Alistair, before settling back on her mother.

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them."

Morrigan didn't seem to hear her at first. She turned back to the Wardens with a sneer. "Such a shame—" she started to say in a sing-song voice, before her hearing caught up with her. "What?" she turned back to her mother with a confused scowl.

Elissa watched the mother and daughter duo carefully. Morrigan _seemed_ genuinely surprised and distressed at the idea, but Elissa couldn't help wondering if this was what Flemeth had wanted all along . . .

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked, you had ears!" The old woman laughed uproariously.

Alistair stirred next to her. "Really," he said, attempting a diplomatic tone. "That's not necessary." He looked to Elissa with a pleading expression.

She pursed her lips and looked back at the two mages again, uncertainly. She wasn't sure she wanted to travel with Morrigan either—she hadn't exactly made the best first or second impression with the Wilds woman, having been curt on their first encounter, and a blubbering mess during their second. But, they had a nearly impossible task before them. And a _mage_ . . . that could prove the difference between their survival and their deaths.

Flemeth didn't wait for her to weigh in. "Her magic will be useful. Even better, she knows the Wilds and how to get past the horde."

"Have I no say in this?" Morrigan's brow knit together in a look torn between sadness and anger. In spite of her doubts about the woman, Elissa felt some sympathy for her. Perhaps having been swept along by the tide of fate for the last week had given her a new perspective, but she could understand wanting to have a say in your own future.

"You have been itching to get out of the Wilds for years. Here is your chance. As for you, Wardens, consider this repayment for your lives."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up, surprised to hear the Witch of the Wilds refer to her "gift" as repayment. "Was this your idea all along?"

The older witch's eyes went cold and hard. "Pardon me," she said in a tone of ice. "But I had the impression that you two needed assistance, whatever the form."

Elissa averted her gaze, but Alistair seemed oblivious to the rebuke. "Not to . . . look a gift horse in the mouth, but won't this add to our problems?" he said, looking at Morrigan doubtfully. "Out of the Wilds, she's an apostate."

Flemeth's patience was at an end with them, it appeared. She crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. "If you do not want help from us illegal mages, young man, perhaps I should have left you on that tower."

Alistair had the grace to look repentant. "Point taken."

Morrigan spoke in a low voice. "Mother . . . this is not how I wanted this. I am not even ready—"

"You _must _be ready," Flemeth told her daughter firmly, both her tone and expression dredging up memories of a similar speech Elissa had heard from her own mother, not more than a week ago. "Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. They need you, Morrigan. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Morrigan shed no tears that Elissa saw. Her brow still knit together in a frown, but she nodded solemnly at her mother. "I . . . understand."

"And you, Wardens? Do you understand?" She turned to stare at them both once again, her eyes lit by a fire within. "I give you that which I value above all in this world. I do this because you _must_ succeed."

Alistair and Elissa both nodded their understanding, and waited for Morrigan to gather her things. She emerged and informed them of a village to the north that would make a good first stopping point, and after a few words with Flemeth, Morrigan strode confidently into the Wilds, not sparing a look back for her mother.

Elissa couldn't help looking back herself, however, and when she did, she gasped aloud. In the old woman's place stood a much taller, more vibrant looking woman, with shockingly white hair that looked to be molded into four large horns atop her head. The horns seemed to drip with blood. The woman's clothing was elaborate, feathered and jeweled and flowing in the wind like tendrils of smoke.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Alistair looking at her in concern. "What's wrong?"

She started to point to the mysterious woman, but when she turned back, she was gone, and Flemeth the old woman stood there again.

"Elissa?"

The memory of what she had seen fluttered away from her like dust in the breeze, and she shook her head, confused at why she had even stopped. She offered Alistair a reassuring, if somewhat confused smile and turned to follow the swamp witch, wondering if she would ever see the old woman again as they made their way back into the Wilds once more.


	12. Promise

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 12: Promise_

_But deep down I knew  
__No matter what in the end,  
__it'd be me and you  
_—_Btsk, _MS MR_  
_

Dusk was falling in the Korcari Wilds. Most of the time what light that made it through the choking vegetation and trees of this wild place was pale and wan. From this vantage point, though, atop a small hill where Morrigan had decided to camp for the night, the setting sun's rays were golden and unfiltered. It almost looked . . . pretty.

Alistair shook his head at the idea of finding anything about this place pleasant, and turned his gaze from the landscape laid out before him to the warden sitting on the other side of the campfire from him. She was busying herself with a project, the pieces of some machinery or other lay on a small blanket before her.

It was their third night following Morrigan through the Korcari Wilds—three nights since the defeat at Ostagar.

_Three nights since Duncan's death . . ._

There was a steadily growing awareness in Alistair that he hadn't been handling his grief well. He'd mostly been able to ignore the disgusted glances the swamp witch, Morrigan, cast him whenever she happened to catch a glimpse of his blubbering, but he was having a harder time justifying his continued wallowing when he thought about Elissa.

She hadn't complained—at least, not that he'd heard, though he had to admit to himself he probably wouldn't have noticed if she had. He realized with a start that he had no idea how camp had been made each night. If they had discussed where and when to camp, he'd missed it. At night, Elissa would press a bowl of food into his hands and lead him to sit by the fire, and yet he had no idea where the food came from or what it had taken to prepare it.

He watched the other warden now as she worked. She had long, graceful fingers and he couldn't help but notice how smooth and uncalloused her hands were. Watching her and realizing how little use he'd been to anyone the last few days made something inside him twist and fill him with self-loathing. Here she was, a noblewoman, clearly out of her element trekking through the Wilds with two perfect strangers, and he'd been making _her_ do all the work, too consumed with his own grief to help.

Well, he could certainly come to his senses _now._ He looked around, trying to take better stock of his surroundings, feeling an increase in shame when he realized they could have been camping on the slope of an active volcano, for all he'd have noticed.

The campsite was actually a good one—Morrigan had managed to find a dry patch of earth atop a small hill. The campfire at the center roared cheerfully around a pot of something that smelled delicious. It was beans, he knew, same as every other night, but his stomach still rumbled at the smell.

The swamp witch was nowhere to be found. He frowned, trying to remember if Morrigan had left them the other nights they'd camped out here, but he honestly couldn't remember. In any case, he was happy for her absence.

He turned his attention back to Elissa, who was too busy concentrating on the items before her to notice his newly awakened state.

She looked tired, he supposed, seeing the dark circles under her eyes, though perhaps it was just shadows from the fire that accentuated them. Still, he had to admit she looked pretty good for a dead woman.

He'd been so sure she was dead, before everything went black. He'd woken up later in Flemeth's hut to see her bloodied, half-naked corpse lying on Flemeth's bed. He'd been confused, and then terribly distraught, wondering what ill scheme of the witches required Elissa's dead body when Morrigan had slapped him and told him to wait outside if he wanted his friend to live.

He shook his head at the memory, frustrated that his mind found ways of going back to that _night_, almost against his will. As he stared hard at the items on Elissa's blanket, trying not to sink back into the blackness of his grief, the wooden and metal pieces suddenly looked familiar.

He sat up and leaned over to look closer. "Did you . . . did you take apart your crossbow?"

Elissa looked up at him with wide green eyes and stared, her mouth hanging open in a perfect 'O'. He couldn't blame her for being surprised. He'd barely said two words to her since they left Flemeth's. "Oh. I . . . yes. Yes, I did."

"Any particular reason?"

She considered him for a moment, and Alistair wondered if perhaps he should have begun with an apology, but then the corner of her mouth curved upward and she shrugged a shoulder daintily. "I have figured out some modifications I'd like to make. If I had the right supplies, I could fashion a chamber for it that holds two bolts, instead of one."

Alistair moved over to sit by Elissa while she talked. He picked up a large, curved piece of wood—the "bow" part of the weapon. "So, you had to take it apart to figure out how to modify it?"

A hint of a blush crawled up her cheek. "Well, yes . . . but that was two nights ago." She took the piece of wood out of his hands. "I've taken it apart every night since just for fun."

He raised an eyebrow at her idea of fun, but didn't say anything as she started to reassemble the weapon. _She'd done this every night?_ Had he really been that lost in his own thoughts, not to notice?

She finished reassembling the crossbow and set it aside, before sitting back with her hands on her lap and looking at him expectantly.

_Right. _He had started this conversation for a reason. "So, I've been thinking," he said. "We should probably talk about where we intend to go. After Lothering, I mean."

Elissa's eyebrows shot upward and she sat up straighter. "Yes!" she said, clapping her hands together. "I have a _lot_ of thoughts on this," she began, before frowning and bringing herself up short. "Forgive me . . . Perhaps you had some ideas on the subject?"

"Um, yeah," he said, blinking in surprise at the swift mood swing. "Well . . . you've been reading those treaties, right?" She'd asked for them their first night in the Wilds. "I still think that's the best plan."

She nodded briskly. "Indeed I have, and I agree." She swept aside the blanket that she had spread in front of her and then picked up a small stick beside her and started drawing an uneven, roundish shape in the dirt. "There are three main groups represented in the treaties." She drew a large teardrop on the left side of the area. "The Circle Tower is here," she said, drawing what looked like a rook from a game of chess on the upper right of the teardrop.

"Oh, that's Lake Calenhad!" he exclaimed.

The look Elissa gave him at that almost made him laugh, so exasperated was it. "_Obviously_," she said, with a roll of her eyes, before drawing a series of 'V's, upside down, along the left hand side of the lake._ The Frostback Mountains_, he realized, but didn't say aloud, not wanting to earn another eye roll. She drew an "O" near the top of the mountain range. "And over here we have Orzammar, the underground city of the dwarves," she said, giving a little shudder.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm not eager to go near the Deep Roads," she said quietly, not looking up at him.

He couldn't say he blamed her, but felt an imperative to lighten her mood. "Well, you know what they say," he said, leaning forward to catch her eye. When she looked up at him he went on. "During a Blight is the best time to tour the Deep Roads. You beat the crowds that way!" He gave her a goofy grin.

She blinked at him a moment, before asking, "Is that a joke?"

He winced. "Well, it's not a good one if you have to ask."

She stared at him blankly for another moment before her face lit up. "Oh! I get it. Very funny," she said, before turning back to her dirt map.

A smile, born half of confusion and half of amusement started to make its way across his face. "Um, thanks. . ."

She ignored him and drew a "D" with a circle around it in the upper right part of the map, before muttering, "That's Denerim." She drew a cloud of trees underneath it. "And we've also got a treaty for the Dalish. How we are going to find a wandering clan of elves in the Brecilian Forest is beyond me."

"Well, I know a village here," Alistair said, leaning over to draw an 'X' in the dirt with his finger along the outskirts of the forest. "We could ask around there to see if any clans have been by recently."

"Wonderful. So that's all the treaties. But don't forget," she said, drawing an "R" on the bottom of Lake Calenhad. "There's also your _excellent_ suggestion of going to Redcliffe to see Arl Eamon."

He smiled to himself at the compliment. "So . . . where do we go first?"

Elissa looked at him uncertainly. "Where do _you_ want to go first?"

Alistair's eyes widened and he shook his head. "I don't know where we should go. I'll do whatever you decide."

She studied him a moment, before nodding and taking a deep breath. "The way I see it, we have a limited window of time to act without Loghain knowing we survived—"

"You think Loghain will be looking for us?"

She gave him another exasperated look. "Of course he will. Who do you think he'll pin the loss of Ostagar on? He already distrusts the Wardens."

Alistair felt his blood rushing to his ears. "But . . . how can he blame _us_ for it? We lit the signal! And the rest of the Wardens died at Ostagar!" He felt a knot of grief return at the thought of Duncan.

Elissa watched him carefully, and Alistair realized his voice had cracked at the last part. She was probably worried that he was going to dissolve into grief, he thought with a rush of guilt. He scowled at the map, determined not to break down again in front of her.

"Let's hope others find it as unbelievable as you do," Elissa said gently. "But I think it's a safe assumption from which to operate. If he knows that we live, I'm sure he'll take steps to correct that. We should take care not to reveal ourselves as Wardens when we go to Lothering."

Alistair could see the truth in her words even if he wanted to choke on the idea that the Wardens could be considered traitors by anyone. "I suppose we should."

"So, given that assumption, we should go somewhere _now_ that is more likely to be watched by Loghain _later_."

Alistair nodded, impressed by the logic. "Loghain doesn't know about the treaties, so he won't know where we need to go."

"Right," she said enthusiastically. "_But_, it's conceivable that he might guess we'd go to Redcliffe, right?"

He nodded slowly. "You're right. He might realize that we'd go to the Arl and appeal for help."

"So that settles it," Elissa said crisply. "Our first destination after Lothering will be Redcliffe. So we can go to Eamon and ask for his help before Loghain realizes we survived." She sighed and gave him a warm smile. "And Eamon will know what to do about _you._"

He looked up at her sharply at that, something in her tone making him wary. "What do you mean, 'do about me'?"

Elissa opened her mouth to speak before snapping it closed again and looking away. A cold rush of dread whirled through him. "Elissa . . ." She turned back to look at him, eyes defiant and mouth in a thin line. "_What_ are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "You forbade me to speak of it."

"I _forbade_ you . . . ?" He didn't go around _forbidding_ people. He would _never_—then of course, it hit him: their conversation after the bridge near the Tower. The feeling of dread built up inside him. "Oh. You mean . . . _that_." Comprehension dawned . . . the way she'd been deferring to him, her enthusiasm for going to see Arl Eamon . . . _Is that why she'd said my joke was funny? _"Wait a minute . . . you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

Elissa raised an eyebrow at him. "Probably not. I'm probably _far_ ahead of you in that department." Normally he would have laughed at the serious way she said that. But he was too agitated to laugh now.

"I'm not . . . you're not thinking that _I'm_ the heir to the throne now, are you?"

"No," Elissa said quickly, startling him. A warm feeling of relief started to flow through him. "I've gone _way_ past that point in my thinking," she said with a wide grin, and he felt his stomach plummet again.

"Maker's breath, _no_! I don't think . . . you don't _really_ think so, do you? I'm a bastard, and nobody even knows about me!"

"Arl Eamon knows, right?" she said brightly, before looking away, careful not to meet his gaze. "You said he brought you up in Redcliffe, didn't you?"

He glared at her then, a ridiculous feeling of anger flaring up at this latest violation. "I _didn't_ actually." He hadn't told her anything—she'd simply guessed it all. "No, I distinctly remember telling you that _dogs_ raised me. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels. A whole pack of them, in fact." He spit the words out, knowing that he was being petty—it wasn't like he kept the fact that Arl Eamon raised him a secret. But it was just one more thing she knew about him without him telling her, and at this point, it was one thing too many.

She stared at him, her face going from angry to confused and back to angry. "That's . . . that's _not _true," she said, not a trace of humor in her tone.

Alistair gaped at her. _"Maker's breath_, are you for real?"

She must have realized, _finally_, that he'd been kidding, because her brow furrowed into a deep scowl and her eyes flashed in anger. "Does Arl Eamon know who you are or not?" she snapped.

He blinked, suddenly brought back to the whole reason for their argument. "Yes," he answered, not really sure why, when only a moment ago he'd been too pissed off to confirm anything for her.

"So," she said stiffly. "Arl Eamon will know what to do with you."

"No," he said sharply, before taking a deep breath and attempting to speak more softly, hoping to quell the panic that'd been rising up within him. "Listen, Elissa. I'm the son of a commoner, and a Grey Warden to boot. It was made _very_ clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising any rebellions or such nonsense."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "What do you think we've been planning," she said, opening her eyes to blink at him in angry confusion. "You said yourself that we'd go up against Loghain and that there'd be a civil war."

"Yeah, but not for me!" he practically screeched in response. He took a deep breath, trying not to sound so panicked. "And that's fine by me. No, if there's an heir to be found, it's Arl Eamon himself. He's not of royal blood, but he is Cailan's uncle . . . and more importantly, very popular with the people. So, if we could just move on . . . forget what you know about my father. Pretend I'm just some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens."

"That's _impossible_," she said, sounding completely earnest. "I can't just _forget_ what I know. And I won't pretend I don't know. I can't do that! I have to use all facts available to me to make decisions and guide my thinking!"

He let out a breath and closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. _Maker_, she was so sodding _literal._ "I just meant . . ." He opened his eyes and tried to give her a level look. "I'd prefer it if you just . . . didn't treat me any differently."

She regarded him a moment in confusion before giving a shrug. "Well, of course not," she said, matter-of-factly. "Technically, you're still just a royal bastard. It wouldn't be proper to grant you the honorifics of a king until after the Landsmeet's decided."

He stared at her, unbelieving. Was she making a joke? But she never was, of course. "I don't just mean _titles_. I don't want to be king! The very idea of it terrifies me."

"You don't want to be king? Why ever not?" She looked at him as if he'd just said the sun was made of cheddar.

He gaped at her. "Hello? Have you met me? I . . . I'm no leader of men. I don't want to be the person sitting on the throne and making decisions that affect the lives of others." He shuddered. "That . . . it just isn't me."

He was astonished to see the hard, cold glint in her eyes. "Do you think I give a _rat's ass_ about what you want?" she snapped, and as upset as he was, Alistair couldn't help being taken aback by the venom in her voice. "Do you think I wanted _this_ future for myself? _Really_? Do you think _this_ is the life _I_ dreamt of as a little girl?"

"No, of course not," he said, feeling a swell of sympathy in spite of everything. She had a point, but he most emphatically did not want to see it right now.

"That's right, it's not. But I am doing my duty and you will too, by the Void, Alistair _Theirin._" His face felt like it'd been lit on fire at the snide tone she used with his last name. He opened his mouth to object, but she leapt to her feet and pointed a finger in his face. "We will go to Arl Eamon and he will tell you the same thing as me. _You_ are the heir to the throne and _you_ will be king." She pressed her finger into his chest each time she said _you._

She reminded him vividly of every woman in his life that spoke to him in that tone-from Isolde to the disapproving sisters in the monastery. His anger flared back to life and he quickly rose to his feet so he could glare down at her. "Oh is that a fact?"

She looked up at him, clearly unintimidated. "Yes. And once you are king, you will reinstate my brother as Teyrn of Highever," she said through gritted teeth.

He blinked down in surprise, his own anger wavering at the mention of her brother. It was the first time she'd brought him up since . . . well, since before the battle of Ostagar. Her lip trembled, and he saw her eyes go watery, but she gave her head a small shake and went on.

"Or, more than likely he is dead and you'll make me Teyrna," she finished, angrily blinking away tears that threatened to fall.

He took a deep breath and looked away, annoyed at how her sorrow tugged at his heartstrings. But he wasn't going to be _king_ just because she looked at him with those big green eyes of hers, was he? He sighed and turned back to her. "I don't suppose it'd matter if I pointed out that Grey Wardens forfeit any rights to land or titles when they join the order, would it?"

She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes, clearly hearing the note of capitulation that had crept into his tone in spite of himself. "_Fortunately_, you'll set a precedent when you ascend the throne yourself."

He couldn't help it. He snorted a laugh. "Maker's breath, you've really thought this all out haven't you?"

She squared her shoulders and faced him, suddenly serious again. "King Cailan _promised_ me that after Ostagar, he'd send the army north to retake Highever and bring Howe to justice. He died before he could fulfill that promise but . . . you're his brother. If you have any sort of honor at all, you'll fulfill his vow to me." She thrust her chin out at him at the end and looked up at him defiantly as if daring him to disagree.

He felt cornered. She was just going to keep hammering away at his arguments until he caved; he saw that now. Still, there was a part of him that rebelled at yet again having his choices made for him. "You've known me only a few days, and you're asking for this? What are you going to ask for next week?"

She looked at the ground and crossed her arms to her chest, and he was just about to tell her was only kidding, when she looked up at him and declared, "You snore."

His mouth gaped open at the non sequitur but he closed it after only a second. "I suppose you have some point to make and you're not just complaining?"

She glared at him sullenly a moment before sighing and looking away. "At night, I wake up after some horrible nightmare, and before I really even know where I am, I hear _you_ snoring." She looked at her feet as she spoke. "And each time, I think to myself _Alistair is alive. I'm not alone._" She looked up at him then, with those big green eyes of hers, and he saw the utter despair and misery in them uncloaked, and he knew he'd already lost this argument. "Maybe this is too much to ask of someone I just met but . . ." She shrugged. "But you're literally the only person I have left in the whole world. I don't have anyone else to ask."

He looked at his feet, feeling his throat constrict at the raw truth of her words. However she might frustrate or annoy him, what she said was true on his part as well. They didn't have anyone else in this world, because everyone was gone. He felt the all too familiar surge of grief that had overtaken him completely for the last three days and willed it back down, shaking his head and staring at the ground. Finally, he looked up at her helplessly. "I . . . don't know."

She looked at him defiantly through eyes that were filled with tears. "I haven't known you long, but I know you take your word seriously. If you promise something, you'll do it." She leaned forward now, the light of some new emotion flickering in her gaze. "And you _will_ promise me this."

He stared at her, wanting to argue that she couldn't possibly know all that. But this was Elissa. The Girl Who Knew Everything. She was right about one thing, he supposed. _If_ he did make such a promise, he _would _do everything in his power to fulfill it. Still, he was holding out. "And _why _are you so sure of that?"

"Because," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You want revenge against Loghain."

_Loghain. _The thought of the traitor set Alistair's teeth on edge. _Maker_, how he hated him. She saw the look that passed over his face at the name and stepped forward.

"You want revenge against him almost as much as I want revenge against Howe." Her eye twitched when at the name_._ She stood inches from Alistair, glaring up at him. "Trust me, Alistair. I will make both of those men _pay_ before I am done."

She was beautiful in that instant, he thought as he looked down at her, standing so close to him. Beautiful but also strangely . . . terrifying. Her eyes had a crazy gleam and her mouth was curved into a feral smile. There was desire in that look—enough to heat his blood and make his breathing go shallow—but it was a dark desire, a desire born out of hatred and the need for vengeance.

He believed her, he realized. She could make Loghain pay for what he'd done, if anyone could. As if reading his thoughts, she rose up on her tiptoes and whispered. "We'll take his throne and put a Grey Warden on it. What better revenge could we have?"

"I want him dead," he whispered down at her, and she nodded, triumphant fire in her eyes.

"Count on it," she breathed, looking exultant.

Before he could reply, they heard a rustling in the underbrush. It sounded like someone, or some_thing_, was making its way to the top of the hill at a determined pace.

The strange intensity of the moment before was gone, replaced by the rapid-fire panic of ensuing battle. Alistair snapped into action, diving to the side and grabbing his sword and shield where he'd apparently left them by the fire and quickly donning them. Elissa came up beside him, crossbow in hand, quickly scrambling with her quiver to get a bolt loaded into it. "Get behind me," he snapped, unceremoniously pushing her behind him with his sword arm.

She made a noise of protest, but a moment later something burst into the opening and he whirled around to meet the threat.

Before he could even assess the blurred shape barreling at them, Elissa gave a strangled cry and shot past him. He could do nothing but gape when she fell to her knees in front of a matted, filthy creature. It took a solid three seconds before he recognized the monster as her mabari, Prince.

"Oh Prince! You're alive! I can't believe it!" Elissa was sobbing in pure joy, not caring how dirty the filthy animal was, grabbing him around the neck and clinging to him. She buried her face in his fur while he gave a happy _woof_ in greeting.

Slowly, Alistair lowered his sword arm to let his weapon dangle uselessly at his side. As he watched the joyous reunion in front of him he felt something inside him hollow out and become brittle.

What kind of ass was he, not to feel happy for Elissa in her moment of joy? Certainly she deserved it. But as he watched the mabari and the noblewoman greet each other, all he could think was that he'd never in his life had anyone who'd ever been that happy to see _him_.

And he likely never would, if he kept behaving like a whiny child, he thought to himself, echoing what Morrigan must have said about him dozens of times so far on this little trip. "Elissa."

She turned to look at him, a huge smile plastered over her face, along with some lovely new streaks of mud across her cheek where she'd pressed it into the dog's fur. She saw his haunted expression and the smile faltered, looking confused.

"You're right," he said, before she could ask. "Of course, you're always right," he muttered to himself, before taking a deep breath and getting on with it. "I promise . . . I'll help you get your teyrn back." Her face lit up with delight, but he lifted up his hand in protest. "I'm _not_ saying that I'm ready to be king," he amended quickly. "I still don't think that's going to happen . . . but I'll do everything in my power to help you get Highever back. I promise."

Elissa beamed up at him and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could there was a flash of light beside them, and then Morrigan appeared, back from wherever she'd been haunting. "Ah. So you have finally decided to rejoin us, have you?" She sneered at Alistair. "Falling on your blade in grief seemed like too much trouble, I take it?"

He felt disgust well up inside him at the callous words, but before he could form a reply Elissa snorted indecorously from her place on the ground by Prince. "Loghain _wishes_ it'd be that easy for him," she said with an enthusiastic and wicked gleam in her eye. She raised her eyebrows at Alistair. "He doesn't even know about _me,_" she said with a grin filled with equal parts glee and malice. It was an odd enough combination to make him bark out a laugh.

The witch gave a snort of disgust. "What are you doing with that foul, flea-bitten creature?"

The mabari whined at the witch, raising one eyebrow and then the other before dipping its head to the ground and looking up at Morrigan with puppy dog eyes.

Elissa gasped. "You hurt his feelings! That was very rude."

Morrigan sneered at the warden. "Let me guess. This foul beast who has been hounding me all day belongs to _you_?"

The dog stood up, pleading eyes forgotten in a fit of happy pride at being recognized as Elissa's. He barked happily and Elissa actually _giggled. _"Prince, meet Morrigan. Morrigan, this is my best friend, Prince." She beamed up at the witch.

Morrigan crossed her arms. "Do we not have enough problems without adding fending for a _domesticated_ animal to the list?"

Elissa scratched her mabari's head. "Don't listen to her Princie. She just misses her mommy!" She spoke in that exaggerated way Alistair had heard mothers speak to their babies.

His eyes bulged out, and he snapped his gaze to Morrigan to see how she'd react. She didn't disappoint. He swore her ears turned red in an instant, and she scowled at them both.

"'Tis a wonder you didn't bring the entire horde down upon us with all the shouting you were doing earlier," she hissed. "Keep your voices down! And keep that mongrel away from me." She turned on her heel with that, and Alistair watched her walk to the very edge of the hill to her own little camp she'd apparently set up away from them.

He turned back to Elissa with a laugh, wondering what other priceless exchanges he'd missed between the two women. At the very least, he had that to look forward to, now that he'd decided to start paying attention.

Elissa shook her head. "She _really_ doesn't like you, does she?" she said, a look of pure wonder on her face.

His eyes and mouth opened wide simultaneously. She couldn't be _serious._ But he looked at her face and . . . nope. Not a trace of self-awareness in that bemused expression. It was just . . .

He started shaking, silently succumbing to the kind of bone-deep amusement that was too intense for sound. He clutched his stomach and bent over, shoulders trembling as he tried without success to tamp down the laughter.

Of course, he looked up and saw her staring at him completely confused, and it was over. The laughter shot out of him, loud and high-pitched and more than a little manic, it didn't stop for a long, long time. Just the thought of trying to explain _why_ he was laughing to Elissa . . . this brilliant, stubborn, clever girl who was so literal it _hurt_ . . . it just made him laugh even harder, and he didn't stop until well after she had snorted at him in disgust, all her pleas for him to explain what the hell was _so Maker blasted funny_ failing to work on the madness of his laughter.


	13. Supply

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 13: Supply_

_Everything has a reason for it  
__Everyone has a story to tell  
__Everything has a reason for it  
__Everyone has a story, don't they?  
_—_Walk By, _Meiko_  
_

"What?"

"You told those bandits we were Grey Wardens."

"You said to intimidate them." Alistair shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

Elissa glared up at him from her place on the steps that led from the Imperial Highway into Lothering. A distant part of her mind knew that she was overreacting, but she was so blasted hungry she could barely _think_, let alone control her irritability on a day like today: hot and uncomfortable in more ways than one.

"I _told_ you that Loghain would be searching for us. I said he'd pin the loss of Ostagar on the wardens—"

"I don't think those bandits are going to go running to Loghain any time soon. Besides, I thought you wanted to _avoid_ a fight."

That was true, but Elissa wasn't inclined to see reason this morning. She opened her mouth to speak but Morrigan piped up first as she brushed by them. "We should have taught those fools a lesson."

Alistair started to look as irritated as Elissa felt. "There were _five _of them," he snapped. "They outnumbered us."

"They should have been no match for a couple of Grey Wardens."

She couldn't see Morrigan's expression but something in the witch's tone made her gulp. She was right: a couple of Grey Wardens _should_ have been able to handle a few bandits. "Yeah, well, no harm done, I suppose," she said, turning on her heel to follow Morrigan into the village, but not before she caught the raised eyebrow her change in attitude elicited from Alistair.

"Right," she heard him say from behind her as he followed her down the stairs. The slightly amused tone set her teeth on edge. If he started laughing at her again this morning, she wasn't sure what she might do.

Any thoughts of her own troubles, however, were quickly diminished as they headed into the village.

"It's just a guess, but I'm thinking everyone in Lothering is aware of the approaching darkspawn horde," Alistair said amiably as he came up to walk beside her.

Elissa unconsciously put one hand on her mabari's head and the other to her nose as they walked through the refugee camp that surrounded what was once a small village. A steady stream of people strode by them, each family carrying such items they couldn't or wouldn't leave behind. There wasn't enough room for so many people. Tents were stacked practically on top of each other, and the smell of so many people forced to live outside in one place was overwhelming.

She watched as a young man and woman tried to comfort their crying child. The child's face was streaked with dirt, and the man and woman appeared tired, defeated. The father finally growled in frustration and slapped the young boy, making him wail even louder. Elissa turned away, trying to ignore the pain that flared to life at the sight of a child Oren's age.

Morrigan sneered at the peasants that walked by them, giving their group a wide berth—no doubt frightened of the heavily armed strangers. "Ah, look how they moan and wail and gnash their teeth," she said in a sing-song voice. "'Tis sad to watch how helplessly they scurry about."

"Nice. Your compassion is an example to us all," Alistair said, sarcastically.

"Both of you shut up!" Elissa whirled on the other two, feeling her irritation flare into something deeper. Now that Alistair had decided to quit wallowing, he no longer bore Morrigan's snide comments in silence. The pair had been grating on Elissa's nerves all morning. "If I have to listen to more of your bickering I'm going to explode."

They both fell silent; Alistair gave her a curious look while Morrigan simply glared. She ignored them.

"You there!" A Templar stood in the middle of the path going into the village. He gestured at Elissa's party. "If you're looking for safe shelter, I'll warn you: There's none to be found. Move on if you can. Lothering's lost."

Elissa blinked up at the Templar, surprised at the note of defeat she heard in the man's voice. She narrowed her eyes, realizing in an instant that her dreams of food and shelter in something resembling civilization were just that—pipe dreams. "Let me guess: There's no shelter or food to be had here?"

The Templar's helmet hid his face, but the man shrugged. "We've had refugees streaming from the south for the last two days. The chantry and tavern are full to bursting."

"Are you saying we can't go in?" she asked, more sharply than perhaps strictly necessary.

"I'm just warning you things may not be as hospitable as you'd expect. People are frightened."

"Thanks for the warning," she said, walking past. She tried to ignore the anxiety that rose up in her at the Templar's word. It was just a small village, she told herself—nothing to be afraid of.

They'd barely taken two steps before finding themselves entangled in a confrontation between a profiteering merchant and a Chantry sister. The merchant had called out for their intervention, and when Elissa pointed out that the man could still make a profit without beggaring the rest of the village, he relented—after stating clearly that their party would receive no such discount. A wild urge to slit the unscrupulous businessman's throat right then and there nearly had her reaching for her sword, but she tamped it down, realizing how absurd the impulse was.

Morrigan didn't approve. "So . . . we have come to solve every squabble in the village, personally? My, but the darkspawn will be _impressed._"

She was about to snap that her notion was _ridiculous_ when she caught the witch's expression and realized she was being sarcastic. Elissa almost snorted in frustration. _Maker,_ did she hate that. "I think we can spare the few seconds it takes to engender a little goodwill among the villagers here, _Morrigan_." She took a step closer and said in a low voice. "Don't forget, we are outlaws now. If anyone recognizes us, remembering that we were actually _helpful_ might prevent them from informing on us."

Morrigan remained unimpressed. "And yet we let the bandits linger outside the village limits, free to harass more refugees. I daresay ending them would have brought more of this _good will_ you speak of than interfering with a merchant's business practices."

She had no good response to that, and that made her furious. All she could do was glower mutely back at the witch, nostrils flaring, before finally giving a huff and turning on her heel to head further into the village. She heard Morrigan give a snort of amusement behind her.

_Great. Now they are _both_ laughing at me._

She stomped her way through the village, seething at the injustice of having to travel with such difficult people. In spite of the death glare she gave to any eye she met, people still called out to their little party for help. Their well-armed and armored appearance must've given off the impression of competence, because it seemed like everyone in the village wanted something from her. She wasn't so far gone in her anger to take it out on the poor elven refugees who begged them for bread or coin, but the helplessness she felt at not being able to assist them gave way to ire when the mother scoffed when she told them she didn't have any coin to spare.

She bit back a scathing reply and turned away, only to almost smack her face into Alistair's chest. She glared up at him angrily. "Move!" she snapped, gesturing with her arm.

Alistair, for his part, remained unperturbed. "Elissa," he said in a calming tone. "Do you think you might be a little irritable because you're so hungry?"

Elissa's eyes bulged wide. "I am _not_ irritable!" She saw the amused smile start to form on Alistair's lips and fought the urge to smack it off his face. She took a deep breath. _Think, you fool. _How did he know she was so hungry? She'd been careful not to complain. She peered at him shrewdly, trying to slow her heartbeat by sheer force of will. "Why? Is this . . . is this a _side effect_?" she asked, hand going unconsciously to the amulet at her neck.

He gave a little shrug. "Yeah, it's especially bad right after you join."

"Oh," she said, staring down at the ground and fighting back sudden tears of frustration. It was only hunger, but it was playing havoc with her emotions, and she had a hard enough time keeping a lid on those lately anyway without adding starvation to the mix. "So that means we need even _more_ food? That we have no money for?" She looked up at Alistair helplessly.

He seemed sympathetic. "We'll figure it out. Remember we can check the Chantry board for work around here."

The idea of actually having to work for money wasn't a pleasant one, either, but she merely nodded mutely in response, not wanting to voice her unease any more than she already had. She felt like a grumpy toddler, all frustrated and on the edge of tears just because she was hungry. If she complained about having to work for food now she would never forgive herself.

The Chantry board _did_ have work, though it did nothing to raise Elissa's spirits. "Bandit killing?" she said, trying to keep the despair out of her voice.

Alistair gave her an understanding look. "There might be other work available if we ask around—"

"Your distaste for battle is curious," Morrigan interrupted. At Elissa's glare she went on. "While ordinarily I would have no interest in doing the Chantry's bidding, passing up the chance to earn this kind of coin strikes me as most imprudent—especially given our current need for both supplies and money."

Once again, she didn't have a good answer for Morrigan—at least, none that she wanted to share with the swamp witch. They'd been lucky enough to avoid any confrontation with the darkspawn or any other enemies on their trek through the Wilds, so Elissa's inexperience hadn't come up. She hadn't given it much thought until the confrontation with the bandits outside the village had brought all of her insecurities flaring back to life.

She knew she would probably have to admit her shortcomings sooner or later to the witch who traveled with them, but she was loath to admit to any weakness. "Yes, well . . . we'll see," was all she managed before heading into the Chantry.

The inside of the Chantry didn't offer any better news than the outside. The Templar in charge—Ser Bryant—initially mistook them for knights from Redcliffe. Apparently the Arl had fallen ill, and the Arlessa had sent their knights off in search of the fabled Urn of Sacred Ashes to cure him. Elissa spared a glance at Alistair at the news and saw his wan expression. She wondered guiltily just how close Alistair and the Arl were—he hadn't shared any details of his upbringing, but she could guess from the way he worried that he regarded the Arl as something more than just his childhood custodian.

From Ser Bryant they also learned that Loghain was setting himself up as king—no surprise there— and that he had called the Bann of Lothering's army away with him to Denerim. The village had been abandoned. Elissa was still seething at this news when they heard a voice call out.

"Alistair?"

They all whirled around at the name. A knight stood in front of a large book on a podium.

Alistair started next to her. "Ser Donall? Is that you?"

"By the Maker, how are you? I . . . I was certain you were dead!" The two men clasped each other's hands fondly. Elissa glanced around, a little nervous at her fellow warden being recognized. At least the man didn't blurt out that they were Grey Wardens . . . yet.

Alistair's face hardened. "Not yet, no thanks to Teyrn Loghain."

"If Arl Eamon were well he'd set Loghain straight soon enough."

Alistair shared a worried glance with her. "So you're here looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, then?"

The man nodded. "I am indeed. Andraste's ashes are said to cure any illness. But I fear we are chasing a fable. With each day, my hope dims."

Elissa didn't put much stock in fables and legends, but she found the knight's presence curious. "So your quest for the ashes brought you here?"

"I expected to take advantage of the chantry's library, in fact, but my skills are better suited to battle than chasing down tales."

"Did you learn anything of value?"

The man shook his head. "Nothing I have found leads me to believe that this was anything more than a quest of desperation." He gave her an appraising look. "If you're truly interested, there are books here containing a great deal of lore."

She wasn't, but the library intrigued her nonetheless. The chantry in Lothering was obviously a very old institution. She had to wonder what other lore those books might contain. Perhaps there were tomes concerning the Grey Wardens there that she might study? The fact that she and Alistair knew so little about how to defeat the Blight had been bothering her ever since they'd left Flemeth's hut. She'd resolved herself to waiting until they made Kinloch Hold to do any research, but perhaps Lothering's chantry could offer a clue? Her stomach growled and she was reminded of her more pressing concerns. Maybe later . . .

Alistair sighed next to her. "We were hoping to see Arl Eamon ourselves, actually."

"Why is that, if I may ask?"

Alistair gave her a questioning look. She shrugged. The man already knew who Alistair was and seemed fond of him. There was likely little harm in revealing their mission, so for once Elissa opted for transparency. "We need his help against Teyrn Loghain."

The man stiffened at first, but then nodded in understanding. "I see. The arl is a popular man, it's true. Teyrn Loghain, however, is a hero throughout Ferelden. Whatever the teyrn has done or not done, the arl remains ill, or worse. That is my primary concern."

Elissa bit her lip; the knight's words sparked a flash of insight. Was it just a coincidence that the one noble capable of challenging Teyrn Loghain fell ill now? "Do you think Loghain is involved with the arl's illness?"

"The arl fell ill before the king died." The knight paused, turning vexed. "But what if Loghain planned that, too? Ah, such thoughts do not sit well with me."

Alistair shot her a worried glance. "We should see what's happening in Redcliffe ourselves. I believe that now more than ever."

Elissa wasn't so sure, but nodded anyway, worry sinking into her gut and making it churn worse than the hunger did. If Eamon died . . . she didn't want to think about where that left them. But, if Loghain _had_ been involved (and she'd half convinced herself already that he was—it was just too damn convenient for him to fall ill _now_) that likely meant the use of poison. She knew a thing or two about poisons, so she might be able to help. She gave Alistair a tiny smile and a nod, and he seemed a little reassured.

They bid the knight farewell with some disquiet, and then the four of them left the chantry and headed for the local tavern, where Morrigan assured them that they'd be able to find more news.

Elissa's head started to ache, and she was certain if she held her hand out to check, she'd see it shake from the hunger she was feeling. She did her best to ignore it and concentrate on the tasks at hand. Before they made it to the tavern they managed to speak with Elder Miriam and another young woman from town that both had need of supplies Elissa thought she could provide. The Elder wanted healing potions, and Allison—a frightened young woman who stuttered when she spoke—had need of a few traps. They both promised to pay for the work, and Elissa felt a little better about their prospects at finding a meal when they crossed the threshold into Dane's Refuge.

Her optimism fled as soon as they entered the tavern. When they stepped inside they were immediately confronted by several well-armed men.

"Well. Look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed!" A big man in heavy chainmail sneered at Elissa and Alistair.

"Uh-oh. Loghain's men. This can't be good," Alistair said under his breath.

Elissa's eyes went wide and she found it hard to breath. Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt her blood rushing in her ears.

"Didn't we spend all morning asking about a man and woman with this very description? And everyone said they hadn't seen them? It seems we were lied to."

The villagers had covered for them, it seemed. _See Morrigan, I told you so! _Elissa had wanted to gloat to the swamp witch, but she couldn't find the breath to make words. She felt light-headed and her vision had started to constrict.

"Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble." A gentle, Orlesian accent sounded like it was coming from a great distance. A pretty red-haired Chantry sister came into her view. Elissa had to squint to focus on her. "These are no doubt simply more poor souls seeking refuge."

"They're more than that," the soldier snapped. "Now stay out of our way, Sister. You protect these traitors, you'll get the same as them."

_We're not the traitors! Loghain is!_ Her mouth was dry. She couldn't _think_ let alone speak. She thought Alistair was talking next to her but his voice sounded like it was under water. The next thing she knew, her vision tunneled and her knees buckled.

And then everything went black.

* * *

It was a smell that roused her—a tantalizingly savory aroma tickled her nose, making her ravenous hunger flare to life once again. Elissa blinked awake, feeling like her head was splitting in half right down the middle of her forehead. Light streamed down from a small rectangular window at the top of the wall, hurting her eyes and making her squint. She turned her head to look around when a wet nose was pressed into her cheek.

"Ugh!" she said, wiping her face and pushing Prince away.

She was in a single bed in a sparsely decorated room. The pretty red-haired woman from the tavern set a tray of steaming food on a small table. Elissa's mouth started watering at the sight of the steaming bowl of soup and the crust of bread sitting next to it.

"You're awake!" The woman's accent was Orlesian. She had bright blue eyes that twinkled as she smiled. Elissa blinked at the woman, trying to remember how she'd gotten here. "You're in the chantry in Lothering," the woman said, seeing Elissa's confusion.

"I know," she said crossly, sitting up.

The woman raised her eyebrows but simply gestured at the soup. "This is for you—"

That was all the invitation Elissa needed. She stood too quickly, making the room seem to spin as she walked over to the small table on wobbly legs. She collapsed into the chair and grabbed the bread, tearing off a huge chunk and shoving it in her mouth.

The woman watched her as Elissa dove into the food, all her manners and etiquette forgotten in the face of her terrible hunger. Her hands shook and she still felt light headed, but the soup seemed to go right to her bloodstream, calming her shattered nerves and allowing her to _think._

She looked over at the red-haired woman again. "I am Leliana," the woman said with a pretty smile. "I'm a chantry sister here in Lothering. You fainted back at the tavern. Your friend said you hadn't eaten all day."

She was mortified with shame. She'd _fainted? _Maker, what a terrible day this was turning out to be. And Alistair had covered for her. Again. "Where is Alistair?" she asked around a mouthful of bread.

"We are in the sisters' wing of the chantry. Men are not allowed here. Neither are dogs, but your friend was more willing to follow the rules than your mabari."

Prince wagged his tail happily and pressed his nose into Elissa's thigh. She absentmindedly patted him on the head before returning to her food.

She spared a few glances at the woman as she wolfed down her meal. Lelaina no longer wore the robes of the Chantry, but had changed into leather armor similar to what Elissa was wearing. A pack lay on the desk along the opposite wall, and a belt hung from the post on the bed with two daggers hanging from them. "I remember you now. You tried to intervene back at the tavern."

"I apologize for interfering. But I couldn't just sit by and not help. Sadly Loghain's men could not be dissuaded. But your friends took care of it." Her face fell. "Unfortunately I could not convince Alistair to spare their lives."

Elissa's eyebrows shot up. "Good," she said harshly, returning to her food, ignoring the little hum of disappointment that escaped Leliana at that. Elissa was glad Alistair hadn't hesitated in killing those men. He'd learned his lesson from the bandits, apparently.

Leliana let her eat in silence until Elissa slurped the last of the soup out of the bowl. "So . . . you're a Grey Warden," she said at last.

Elissa set the bowl down with a contented sigh and then turned to the woman. She cocked her head to the side. "You're no chantry sister," she said after a moment of scrutiny.

Leliana gave a little start at the change of topic, but then recovered. "I assure you that I am," she said mildly. "Or at least . . . I was."

Elissa's gaze landed significantly on the daggers hanging from the bed, before returning to Leliana. "Where does a chantry sister learn to fight with those?"

Leliana shrugged. "I wasn't born in the chantry, you know," she said in a gently teasing tone. "I had a life before I joined. Surely as you did before you came to the Grey Wardens."

Elissa steadfastly ignored the grief that flared up in her at the woman's words. That wasn't important right now. She pursed her lips as she studied the woman before her. The casual grace, the elegant mannerisms, her easy rapport. No, this woman was far more than a simple chantry sister.

"You've been in Ferelden what? A year? Maybe two?" Her accent was fading, but still very noticeable. She remembered how Oriana's accent had faded over the years with another twinge of grief.

Leliana's mouth parted into a surprised smile. "Two years in fact." Her grin became wide. "Alistair warned me about you."

Elissa fought to keep the panic from showing on her face. That could mean so many things. Warned her that she was an inept warden who fainted at the first sight of battle? Or warned her that she was a bratty noble who liked to snap at people for no reason? "Warned you about what?"

"He said you would awake and start telling me all of my secrets," Leliana said with a charming smile.

"Oh." She narrowed her eyes at the woman, trying to quell the irritation that had flared to life in her again. It wasn't Leliana's fault Alistair had spilled the beans, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed with the woman's smooth, nonchalant attitude.

She looked around the room. It was small, of course. The chantry wasn't about luxury and space. The room had no decoration, save for a symbol of Andraste carved into one wall. The woman's personal effects were few: in addition to the pack and daggers a small lute sat in one corner.

She turned back to Leliana. "You're not a noble," she said, enjoying the furrowed brow her words elicited. She gave a little smile in return. "Your attitude's all wrong, especially for an _Orlesian_ noble. But you were raised around money weren't you?" She snapped her fingers. "You were a lady-in-waiting for an Orlesian noblewoman I'd bet! At least, before you turned to a life of crime . . ."

Finally, that smug, even-keeled expression started to falter. "The chantry doesn't pry. Why should you?" she said hotly.

Elissa gave a little grin of satisfaction for having ruffled the smooth talker's feathers. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, looking around the small room and noting the significant details.

Her eyes landed on an ornate brush, comb and mirror that lay on the desk. Seized by impulse, she rose, more carefully this time, and made her way to the desk, the "chantry sister" watching her in mute surprise. She picked up the mirror and peered in it.

She hadn't seen her reflection since . . . well, in a long time. She was shocked at the vision in the mirror. Her face looked pale and sunken and she had dark circles under her eyes. The gash to her temple from the alpha back in the Wilds had healed, leaving a thin scar that interrupted the dark hair of her right eyebrow.

She hardly looked like a noblewoman anymore. She didn't know what she looked like.

Leliana cleared her throat, interrupting her examination. "Those men said you were Grey Wardens. You will be battling the darkspawn, yes? That is what Grey Wardens do?"

She turned to face the woman, still holding the mirror. After a moment she smiled and said, "Pack this too, alright?" She grabbed the brush and comb off the desk. "And these! I didn't have a chance to pack anything like that when I left and Morrigan won't let me borrow hers."

Leliana blinked at her, but took the items from her hands anyway. "I . . . you . . . I was going to ask—"

"To come with us?" Elissa helpfully provided, inordinately pleased with herself for having shaken the unflappable sister's serene demeanor.

"I . . . yes! How did you know?"

Elissa grinned widely. She felt _so_ much better now that she had some food, and the prospect of having another person along was actually cheering her up. She was sick of listening to Morrigan and Alistair's banter. If she had guessed correctly—and she was confident that she had—Leliana was a person full of mysteries waiting to be uncovered. She gestured at the open pack on the desk. "You're obviously preparing to leave, and I don't think you're just evacuating. You didn't just _happen_ to be in the tavern with your daggers handy either, did you? You were waiting for us, weren't you?"

Leliana's mouth hung open for a few seconds before she snapped it closed and shook her head, a faint smile gracing her lips. "You're right. I _do _want to come along. I know that you will need all the help—"

"Do you have any extra clothes? Bedding that we could take with us?" Elissa's eyes flitted across the small room, searching for anything that might be useful. She'd been wearing the same leather armor since Ostagar, and didn't even have a change of clothes for sleeping in.

Leliana stammered. "I . . . I do have a few things I could bring. I suppose the bedding would just be left here—" At that Elissa started stripping the bed and folding the sheet and blanket, visions of sleeping with an actual _pillow_ making her feel almost giddy with delight. "But don't you even want to know why?"

Elissa turned to the woman again, giving her yet another once-over as she finished folding the bedding.

"Well," she said, drawing out the word. "You're Orlesian, but if you're spying for Orlais, you're not very good at it, and you'd be better served ingratiating yourself with Loghain in Denerim than hooking up with the last wardens in Ferelden." She didn't miss how Leliana tensed up at the word "spying" and that led her to a whole host of conclusions, but she didn't bother airing them. "To be honest, I don't really care why. Just don't betray me, or I'll make sure you and everyone you care about pays," she added, letting a hint of venom seep into her words.

Leliana, to her credit, wasn't easily intimidated. Or, she had a free conscience. "I would never betray you!" she insisted. "I want to come with you because the Maker told me to."

That actually was a little surprising. Elissa's eyebrows climbed her forehead. "What did you . . . have a vision or something?"

The flush that crept up the woman's cheek confirmed Elissa's guess. "I-I know that sounds . . . absolutely insane—but it's true! I _did_ have a vision!"

At that, Elissa took another look around the room, piecing together a story of half-formed ideas from her observations. She wondered at the series of events that must have occurred to take this woman from lady-in-waiting, to criminal, to devout chantry sister. Something terrible, no doubt. In any case, Elissa decided she didn't care. Having another person to fight for her was worth it, and she was reasonably sure that Leliana was sincere in her desire to help. She didn't trust the Orlesian spy, but she didn't trust anyone (well, except Alistair, a tiny voice in her mind said).

Her eyes widened with a sudden thought. "Do you know how to cook?"

Leliana blinked. "Yes, I can cook. Does this mean you believe me?" The hope and delight that shone in Leliana's eyes at that was almost hard to take.

Elissa shrugged. "We can use all the help we can get."

* * *

"Perhaps your skull was cracked worse than Mother thought." Morrigan crossed her arms and glared at Elissa. They were standing on the steps of the Chantry.

"We can use all the help we can get," Elissa repeated to the scowling witch, and then turned to Alistair. "She acquitted herself well at the tavern I assume?" She felt her cheeks flush but didn't offer an apology for fainting, preferring instead to act like the embarrassing incident had never happened.

Alistair seemed uncomfortable. "Um, yeah . . . she's fine and all, but are you sure about this?" Elissa wasn't going to tell the others about Leliana's motivations, but the ex-chantry sister had wasted no time in waxing poetic about her duty to the Maker and her vision. He gave a significant look at Morrigan and said, "Aren't we full up on the _crazy_ in this little party?"

Elissa shrugged. "Beggars can't be choosy." She saw Leliana stir at that, but went on before the sister could interrupt. "Listen, we can use . . ." _A person who can actually fight_, she wanted to say, but flicked her eyes at Morrigan and decided against it. "Her," she said instead. "Plus, she knows how to cook." He seemed to concede the point with a shrug of his own so she went on. "I was thinking the four of you could tackle the chantry board jobs while I stay back and see what I can do for work here."

His face turned uneasy, echoing his worry-etched features from earlier when she'd emerged from the chantry. She felt a stab of guilt that he'd been so concerned. "Are you sure about that? Maybe Prince should stay with you . . ."

Elissa shook her head. "No, he'll just get in the way. Take him, and meet me back here when you're done. Hopefully I'll have some coin to spread around by then."

Alistair relented and took the rest of the party north, and Elissa got to work. The village woman named Allison wanted traps, so she set about scavenging what she could for parts around the village, and before long had a half dozen traps ready to deliver to Allison, and a few more advanced traps to keep for her own uses. She used the money from that job to purchase flasks, and then set about making potions for Elder Miriam, who she saw used them all wrong, so Elissa had been forced to stay and help the old woman treat the various ailments and injuries the refugees complained about.

The sun hung low in the west by the time Morrigan and Prince returned to summon her to the camp they'd made north of town. Elissa looked at her in surprise when she appeared. "They sent you back to collect the reward?"

"Alistair and Leliana are preparing dinner. 'twas too tempting to pass up a chance to get away from their nattering conversation." She turned a scornful gaze to Elissa. "What I did to deserve traveling with a templar, a chantry sister and _you_ I have no idea."

Elissa rolled her eyes but said nothing. She collected her things and wished the elder a good night before following Morrigan and Prince outside of the village. Apparently, Morrigan's ire needed an outlet, however, for ignoring her did no good.

"So tell me, Elissa, what kind of warden are you that you hide from battle whenever it's upon us? I thought the Grey Wardens were fabled warriors of legend and yet you seem . . . ill-suited to this task."

Elissa took a deep breath. She'd had all day to prepare for this, so she had a ready answer. "I don't hide from battle. It's just my talents are more tactical than combat-oriented," she said breezily, and gestured to her bag. "I specialize in traps, potions, poisons . . . that sort of thing." She peeked at the witch out of the corner of her eye to see if she was buying it. Her expression was inscrutable, as always. _Maker_, Morrigan was hard to read. "I needed supplies," she ended simply.

The witch made a little noise, but Elissa had no idea what it meant, and resolved to simply ignore her.

The camp was in a perfect location, she discovered when they arrived. Alistair and Leliana had a roaring campfire going on the banks of a wide, gentle river that sloped under an outcropping of rock. They'd already set up some stumps for seats, and whatever was cooking in the pot by the fire smelled delicious. The two didn't even raise their heads from their work until Elissa and Morrigan were practically upon them, so involved with their cheery conversation were they.

"So you were raised by Arl Eamon?" she heard Leliana ask Alistair after dinner.

"Where did you hear that?" Alistair said in that joking tone he seemed to say _everything_ in. "No, no, no. I was raised by _dogs_ you know—giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels."

Leliana laughed, full-throated with genuine amusement. "Oh Alistair! You're so funny."

The tinkle of Leliana's laughter brought with it an odd, uncomfortable feeling Elissa found all too familiar.

She wasn't jealous. She barely knew Alistair, and wasn't even sure she liked him now that he'd deemed her a figure of abject amusement. But, witnessing the easy rapport between the pretty chantry sister and the amiable templar brought up memories of isolation, of being left out.

_Let me guess, this is the part where we're surprised to discover you've never had a friend your entire life._

Alistair's words from earlier that day rang in her ears. She shook her head and tried to ignore the two chatterboxes, spreading a blanket out before her and putting her crossbow on it. She had work to do, so she should be grateful that Alistair was occupied and entertained. He'd leave her alone then. That was good.

She overheard much as she worked. Alistair talked about his heartbreak at being sent to the chantry, and how he'd behaved toward the arl when he left, smashing an amulet from his mother in his childish anger. And then when he was done, Leliana went on about her own sad childhood, sighing about a mother she barely remembered.

It all left Elissa feeling oddly unsettled, hearing these bits and pieces of their conversation. The facts, she knew—she had already figured out on her own that Isolde must've been the cause of Alistair's banishment to the chantry (she knew when the Arl was married and did the math) but she hadn't realized how it had affected him, nor had she realized how much he hated life in the chantry. It made her wonder if her knowing everything without being told was actually a kind of disadvantage when it came to making friends . . .

She put the thoughts out of her mind with a rough shake of her head, gathering up her things and preparing for bed. Friends weren't the priority now, she knew, and it was senseless to ponder such things.

She didn't notice that she'd settled down almost as far from the main camp as Morrigan had. It took her a long time to fall asleep; Leliana and Alistair seemed to stay up half the night chatting. When Elissa finally slept she dreamt of closed doors and hushed conversations, before the darkspawn dreams jolted her awake. The gentle waves of the lazy river flowing beside the campground made the only sound, and it took her a long time to fall back asleep.


	14. Dawn

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 14: Dawn_

_Cause I like to keep my issues drawn  
__It's always darkest before the dawn  
_—_Shake It Out, _Florence and the Machine_  
_

Alistair felt like camp was getting downright crowded.

In addition to Leliana, they'd also managed to acquire a dwarven merchant and his sweet but dimwitted son. They'd rescued the pair from a darkspawn attack, and ever since then the dwarves had tagged along, making camp with them each evening. Elissa had also seen fit to somehow convince the Revered Mother in Lothering's Chantry to let the caged qunari into her custody. Why she'd done such a thing, Alistair had no clue.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he had asked. "How do you know he won't kill us all in our sleep?"

Elissa had given him one of her patented _you're-being-a-complete-moron-Alistair_ looks, and said, "He won't. He wants to atone for his crimes."

"Sure, that's what he _says_," Alistair had pointed out. "But did you ever think maybe he'd tell you anything to get out of his cage?"

Again, the face she'd worn had been priceless, but he hadn't had a chance to laugh.

"He hasn't told me anything," Elissa said. "I haven't spoken with him yet."

"Then how do you know—" he had started to say, but then thought better of it, shaking his head and lifting his hands up in defeat. "You know what? Never mind. I'm sure it's just perfectly _obvious_, and I'm just too slow to catch it." He had tried to mimic her exasperated tone whenever she told him something was "obvious" and thought that he came pretty close to it, but she hadn't found it funny.

Alistair frowned into the campfire. Elissa hadn't found anything he said funny lately. She'd been rather short with him ever since they came to Lothering, offering him nothing but glares and scowls when he'd tried joking around with her. He wondered why.

Before he could get too far into his ruminations, a soft whimper brought his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing. He was on watch for the night—the middle (and worst) shift. When he'd informed Elissa of the need to set up a watch each night she had devised a schedule of three shifts, with each person taking a turn at the first, middle, and last watch before having two nights off. It was a smart schedule, giving everyone a couple of nights of full sleep before being forced to watch again. Tonight was the first night they'd implemented it, and Alistair had drawn the short straw for the middle watch.

A rustling accompanied another whimper, and Alistair craned his neck to try and see into the darkness beyond the campfire. The dwarves slept in their merchant cart, but everyone else was still stuck sleeping under the stars, as there were no tents to spare in the village. He was pretty sure the whimpering was coming from Elissa's bedroll.

_She's having a darkspawn nightmare._ He frowned again, turning back to stare at the fire, feeling unsure what to do. He knew he _should_ wake her—there had been an unspoken agreement among the wardens to rescue one another from the middle of a bad dream if you noticed it going on. But he worried at her reaction, since she'd been so unfriendly to him of late, and for all he knew she wasn't even having a nightmare, but some other type of dream that caused soft whimpering. He blushed a little at the thought and then a stifled cry brought him back to reality.

He stood finally, and walked the few paces beyond the ring of firelight to where he thought Elissa was sleeping, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark. Once they did, he saw her jerk in her sleep, another choked cry escaping her throat. Her head turned back and forth, as if she was trying to avoid seeing some horrid sight, and another whimper and gasp after that convinced him that this was no pleasant dream he was disturbing.

Her thrashing grew worse as he knelt beside her. Placing his hands on her shoulders he gently shook her and whispered, "Elissa."

She jerked under his hands but didn't wake, instead giving a little strangled sob. "Elissa," he said again, a little louder, and accompanied it with a harder shake of her shoulders.

She gasped and woke, clutching at his arms with a vice grip. She stared up at him with those big green eyes of hers that had gone wide with fear.

"It's alright," he said gently, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "You were having a bad dream." He could see by the terror in her eyes that the Fade still hadn't really released her, and she kept hold of his arms. "You're safe now," he added.

Comprehension finally seemed to dawn on her face and she gave him a shaky nod, but she didn't release him from her grip, and he still had his hands on her shoulders. "Er . . . come sit by the fire a minute? You probably don't want to go back to sleep right away . . ." he said, releasing her.

She stared at him for a long moment before nodding again and letting go of him. He offered her his hand to help her rise, and she took it and rose.

She was wearing the nightgown Leliana had lent her, he noticed, as he led her back to the campfire. It was a prim, modest garment, with long sleeves and a high neck, and it billowed out around her in the gentle night breeze. Her golden hair was unbound for once, streaming down her back. She looked like a ghost, all pale and wide-eyed, and she held onto his hand until she was seated next to him on the ground by the fire.

She hugged her knees to her chest. "It seemed . . . so real," she said in a breathless whisper, staring at the fire as if comforted by the sight of the flames.

He shifted a little to look down at her. She'd sat herself quite close to him, he realized. "Well it is real, sort of," he said in quiet voice. "You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them. The archdemon, it . . .'talks' to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. That's why we know this is really a Blight."

"The archdemon," she said with a shudder. "The dragon . . ."

He waited, but she fell silent. "I don't know if it's really a dragon," he said after a beat, "but it sure looks like one. But yes, that's the archdemon."

"I used to look forward to sleeping . . ." her voice trailed off.

Alistair swallowed the lump in his throat. "It takes a bit, but eventually you can block the dreams out. Some of the older Grey Wardens say they can understand the archdemon a bit, but I sure can't." She'd gone very still, and when he turned to her he saw that she still stared intently into the fire. "Anyway, I heard you thrashing around and thought I should wake you." He gave a little shrug. "It was scary for me at first, too."

At that she turned to him, a guarded expression on her face. Then, she lowered her gaze, and he couldn't help but admire the way her dark lashes contrasted with the pale skin of her cheek. "Really?" she said in quiet voice, and Alistair was startled to hear the note of disbelief in it.

He gave a little laugh. "I screamed like a little girl. Duncan said he thought I had someone in my room. Not embarrassing at all."

Her eyes grew wide at that, and she gave him an uncertain look, the ghost of a smile creeping over her lips. But then she seemed to remember that she wasn't laughing at his jokes anymore, because she frowned and turned back to face the fire.

He stifled a sigh and they sat there in silence for some time, while he racked his brain for something to say, before Elissa spoke up again. "Can we talk about something other than the wardens?" she asked, not meeting his eye.

"Uh, sure. What did you want to talk about?"

She reached down to play with a piece of grass for a few seconds before fixing him with a piercing expression. "If you hate the Chantry so much, why do you remain a Templar?"

The question surprised him, considering he didn't remember saying two words to Elissa about his life in the Chantry or what he thought about it. He almost said as much but stopped himself, realizing that she probably had overheard him discussing his past with Leliana. Or she just figured it all out on her own, with that big brain of hers. Still, he felt reluctant to talk about it, and he'd made a sort of petty vow with himself not to answer anymore of her probing questions without a fight. "Have you seen the uniform?" he joked. "It's not only stylish, but well-made. I'm a _sucker _for good tailoring."

Of course, she didn't get it. "I thought Templars wore heavy plate?" she asked, eyes all wide.

He almost barked out a laugh at that, but managed to keep his face composed—barely. "That's just in public." He lowered his voice and leaned over. "In private we have these yellow and purple tunics, right? Much more comfortable, and you don't break the beds when you jump on them during a pillow fight."

The look she gave him then was utterly priceless—so confused and unsure—and he couldn't help bursting into a laugh.

Her face darkened and she turned away abruptly. "Fine," she said heatedly and started to rise. "_Don't_ tell me then. I don't care."

His laughter gave way to an exasperated sigh. "Elissa," he said, reaching out to stop her. "Come on, don't be like that. I was only kidding."

She paused in her ascent, gaze dropping down to glare at the hand on her arm before jerking free of his grasp. She sat back down in a huff, though. "Why?" she snapped at him. "Why do you do that when you know—" She cut herself off, unwilling to finish the thought or meet his gaze again.

"What? When I know you won't get it? I'm sorry, but I'd just as soon quit breathing as quit joking." He gave her an incredulous expression. "You're not really upset are you? It's not that big of a deal is it?"

The firelight was dim, but he could have sworn she was blushing. She still didn't meet his eye, either. "I just don't like to be laughed at," she said in a quiet voice.

He must have imagined the hurt tone in it. She couldn't really be this upset about his laughing, could she? Suddenly he felt like an enormous heel, realizing that her angry glares had only started after that night in the Wilds when he'd been unable to stop his raucous laughter. "It's . . . it's just funny that the perfect Elissa Cousland doesn't get sarcasm."

She stilled, and finally met his gaze out the corner of her eye. "Perfect?"

That . . . wasn't what he'd meant to say. But, the words did seem to have a soothing effect on her. "Well, you know," he went on in a rush, encouraged by her shift in mood. "You're brilliant, of course, and you know _everything_, and you're resourceful and beautiful . . ." At _beautiful_ her gaze flitted to his before lowering again. Dim light or no, he could tell she was blushing now. He felt his heart give a little leap, and wondered what the hell he was doing, attempting to flirt with _Elissa_. But, the scowl was gone from her face . . . "It's just funny that you have this one little weakness, I guess. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he said sincerely.

She touched her face, fingers at the little scar on her eyebrow. "I am hardly perfect," she muttered. "And I have much more than one weakness." She removed her hand from her face and stared at him then, and he had no clue what emotion lurked in the depths of those emerald eyes of hers.

He grasped at the first thread of a thought. "Surely I'm not the first to tease you about this?"

She gave a halfhearted shrug. "Most . . . wouldn't dare," she said simply, looking down at her hands again.

His mouth fell open at that, the reminder bringing him up short. It was easy to forget so much about her, given the braininess and short temper, and everything else. But she was the daughter of a teyrn, and that . . . actually explained a lot. "Really?" was the only response he could muster, however.

She met his glance then again; her look was shy and guarded. "Well," she said, pursing her lips and staring at her fingers, where she'd twined a glade of grass between them. "My brother was the only one who could get away with it," she said with a rueful smile.

At that, he felt his lips start to twitch into a smile, imagining what it would be like to have a little sister like Elissa. The thought filled him with an unexpectedly painful longing. "Yeah?" he asked, nonetheless trying to encourage her to continue. That sentence was the most she'd ever told him about her life before the wardens. When she didn't say anything he gently but playfully leaned into her with his shoulder and bent his head to try to catch her eye. "Completely undeserved, I take it?"

It was only then that he recognized the significance of the words she used. Her brother _was_ the only one allowed to tease her. He tried to see her face, but she'd bent her head and her hair fell forward, forming a golden curtain that made his hand twitch with the need to brush it aside . . .

_That would be really stupid._

She would probably smack him. He gulped, and tried to think of something to say. "I'll stop," he said softly.

She looked up at that, seemingly shocked at his serious tone. She frowned then, but it wasn't at him. "No," she said, before bending her head again and letting her hair hide her face. "Don't do that."

She sounded so sad, and he felt so stupid, sitting there and not knowing what to say to her. Neither of them had talked about their losses directly. He hadn't felt much like talking about Duncan, and he assumed she felt the same about her situation. With a pang of guilt he realized that he wasn't even sure who all she'd lost. A mother and a father, he knew about, but did she have anyone else? A sister or . . . someone she cared about?

"You know," he said after the silence had stretched on too long. "If you ever want to talk about . . . anything, I . . ." he struggled to come up with the words to convey that he was there for her, without presupposing an intimacy that would offend her. "I'm here," he finally settled on.

He faced forward as he spoke, only sparing a quick glance out of the corner of his eye at her. For her part she remained deathly still, and he felt a rising panic that he'd overstepped his bounds, and that her next words would surely be a scathing chastisement.

He was wrong. Finally she brushed her hair aside with her hand, tucking it behind her ear and turning to face him. Meeting her gaze felt like a feat of courage, but he did it and saw that her eyes were clear. "I want you to answer my question," she said, and he blinked curiously at the challenging tone he heard in her voice. There was a touch of a plea in it too, though, as well as in her eyes.

He wanted to comply but his mind went blank. "What question?" She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and the simple gesture melted away some of the tension between them. In an instant he remembered. "Oh." He gave a sigh that turned into a groan. "You don't really want to know about my being a templar, do you? It's really quite boring."

She shrugged. "Perhaps it'll help me get back to sleep then," she offered, lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

He couldn't help cracking one of his own. "Right, happy to be of service then. I guess there's no harm in obliging." He elbowed her gently. "I have a couple of interesting-looking moles I can show you later, too, if you're interested." He didn't look at her reaction to that, not trusting himself not to laugh if she took him seriously, and unwilling to risk their unsteady truce just yet. "The truth of the matter is that I did hate going to the monastery . . ."

Once he started talking about it, he found he didn't really mind. He'd already told Leliana much of it, though he realized that he'd probably kept the worst of it from the pretty Chantry sister, not wanting to come off as a whiny brooder to someone he'd just met. He felt no such compunction with Elissa, though whether it was because he figured she'd ferret out the truth anyway, or if it was because she'd already seen the worst of him and . . . well, she was scowling at him less so there was that.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been talking when he inadvertently brought up the Grey Wardens, briefly forgetting that she'd wanted to avoid the topic. "What about you?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "Do you have anywhere you consider home?"

He waited a few seconds, but she didn't answer, and he finally realized what an enormous idiot he'd been, asking her that question after she'd just lost it all. He turned to apologize but saw immediately that she hadn't heard the question at all.

He chuckled softly to himself in relief. He was right. His templar stories _were_ boring—so boring they'd fulfilled Elissa's wish and put her to sleep. She looked serene, sleeping with her head resting on her knees in a position that Alistair was sure would leave her aching and sore in the morning. He was loath to wake her, given how peaceful she appeared, but in the end he figured it'd be more merciful to send her back to her bedroll than let her remain in that position.

Very gently, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Elissa, wake up."

She stirred at his touch, and his eyes were drawn to her lips that parted slightly. Her eyelids fluttered and he quickly turned his head to face the fire, but the next thing he knew she shifted, still sleeping, to rest her head on the meat of his shoulder.

He froze.

She was back to sleep in seconds, and he felt his heartbeat quicken as he glanced down to at the blonde head of his fellow warden where it rested against him.

He was going to just shrug his shoulder and wake her up . . . he was _going_ to, but he found that he simply couldn't. Having a pretty girl fall asleep on his shoulder was a singular experience that he'd, until now, not had the pleasure of having.

So he sat there, debating with himself until his shift was over, and Morrigan came to relieve him, giving the two wardens a disgusted sneer when she did. He sent her a murderous look in return and she had the good sense not to wake Elissa, turning on her heel to serve her period at watch as far away from him as she could.

That was . . . just lovely, in fact. He settled himself a little more comfortably against the log at his back, and then tucked his chin to his chest and tried to sleep, not feeling particularly optimistic at his chances. His arm was asleep and he ached to move it, but visions of the dark circles under Elissa's eyes strengthened his resolve not to wake her.

The warmth of Elissa's body against him and her steady breathing must've lulled him into sleep, however, because the next thing he knew he was blinking awake to a bright morning sun and Elissa was stirring next to him.

She sat up all of a sudden and looked at him in shock. "Did I fall asleep on you? Why didn't you wake me?"

He blinked at her blearily, still trying to get his bearings. "I . . ."

Before he could finish she blurted out in horror, "Did you fall asleep on _watch_?"

"No!" he answered quickly. She gave him an odd look at that, and he felt strangely guilty, as if he'd done something terribly improper by letting her sleep on his shoulder. "You just . . . I didn't want to wake you. You've looked so tired lately . . ."

It was the wrong thing to say, he knew, when she raised her hand to her face and turned away. _Yes, every woman wants to hear that they look tired. Great job, Alistair._ Before he could come up with something better she shook off whatever she was feeling and turned back to him, an expectant look on her face. "Well," she said, looking him up and down. "Everyone else is still asleep. Now's as good a time as any to examine those moles of yours."

He had still been reclining on the log, but he sat up suddenly at her words, sure his face was turning crimson. His mouth gaped open. "No, that was . . . I don't . . ." He hadn't thought even _Elissa_ could take that statement seriously. He finally caught her expression—she was biting her bottom lip in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing, and her eyes were twinkling with amusement. Relieved, he gave her a reproachful look. "Very funny," he said drily.

At that she burst into a cackle of laughter, high and loud as he rolled his eyes at her. Just then Leliana walked up behind them.

"What's so funny?" She looked first at Elissa and then back to Alistair, an expression of befuddled amusement on her face.

"Nothing," he said, mock glaring at his fellow warden. A smile was threatening to form on his lips, though. "Just a . . . private joke between wardens."

Leliana raised her eyebrows and smiled prettily. "I didn't think she did that," she said in a stage whisper to Alistair, clearly amused at the uncharacteristically giddy Elissa.

"Yeah well, you know Elissa," he said sardonically. "She's a quick learner." The woman in question cackled even more loudly at that, clutching her stomach and throwing her head back. In truth it was a captivating sight, but he felt some need to recover his dignity. "Oh come on, Elissa, it wasn't _that_ funny."

She stopped to regard him, mid-cackle, mouth hanging open into a thoughtful but joyful smile. She seemed to consider his statement seriously a moment, before shaking her head and fixing him with an earnest expression. "No, I'm pretty sure it's quite funny," she said with a wide, completely sincere grin.

And that was it for him. He joined her in her infectious laughter that just stretched on and grew the more puzzled Leliana looked at them.

Drawing the short straw hadn't been so bad after all, he thought as he finally shook off his laughter some minutes later and helped his fellow, still-giggling warden rise to her feet. She gave him one last look, before retreating with Leliana to get dressed, and he was pretty sure the look was full of gratitude, and empty of any irritation at all, for once.

It was a pretty great way to start the day, to tell the truth.

* * *

_Author's note: I just wanted to drop a line to say **thank you** to everyone who has followed, favorited, or especially reviewed this story! I'm honestly overwhelmed at all your kind words, and I'm feeling extremely lucky to have such lovely readers as yourself-some of you have reviewed nearly every chapter, and I can't tell you how nice it is to see your opinions in my inbox._

_I want to give a special thank you to **Riptide Monzarc, **who has looked at every chapter of mine since Secret, and whose thoughts and suggestions have really helped. Check out his Tainted stories for a very compelling take on the mage elf origin, and a very original take on the canon events of DA2.  
_

_Lastly, just a word of warning, that is perhaps unneeded, but I feel like making anyway: this is a Cousland/Alistair ship, but if you're expecting a smooth romance with little to no conflict...this might not be the fic for you! I am heavily invested in Elissa and Alistair-don't worry-but don't think the two will have an easy road in finding each other's hearts, alright? I feel like that had to be said after this somewhat shippy chapter :)_

_Thanks again!_


	15. Purpose

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 15: Purpose_

_When we die  
__We will die with our arms unbound  
__And this is why  
__This is why we fight  
_—_This is Why We Fight_, The Decemberists_  
_

Any other time and the meadow would have been an idyllic spot. Leliana could almost see the family that might've gathered here for a midday picnic. She could imagine the children frolicking in the soft green grass as their parents reclined on a colorful blanket in the shade, laughing at the antics of their progeny. She could also see the meadow in the evening when it would be bathed in the golden light of a setting sun—perhaps serving as the perfect romantic location for a pair of secret lovers.

Any other time and this meadow could have been something close to paradise, but today instead of the sounds of children playing or lovers sighing, the meadow was filled with the sounds of death. The meadow was filled with darkspawn and the taint they carried was already turning the verdant green grass to brown and black.

Leliana lashed out at the genlock in front of her, for the hypothetical family and the lovers both, and exulted in the feel of the darkspawn's flesh giving way to her blades. She wanted to laugh, but sung instead, a tune high and clear and uplifting—at least she hoped—to both Sten and Alistair who turned threats into corpses at their feet.

She danced among the enemy, flanking them where she could to deliver a killing—or at least incapacitating—backstab. She gave Sten with his great sword a wide berth, choosing instead to stick closer to Alistair, sliding into place behind his enemies when she could, and then diving back behind him and his borrowed shield when she caught too much of the enemy's attention.

It was thrilling, and when it was over she was left panting.

"Having fun?"

She must've been smiling too widely, because Alistair's brow crinkled slightly when she looked up at him, in that way it tended to when she started talking about her vision or her idea of the Maker.

_The darkspawn are vile,_ she told herself, not for the first time. _Of course I enjoy killing them. _It didn't mean anything.

Schooling her face into something more serene, she gave Alistair a slight nod. "Let's go check on the others."

They made their way to where Elissa had fallen back to guard the civilian merchant and his son. The wagon was just on the edge of the clearing, having stopped there when Alistair gave the signal that darkspawn were ahead.

Leliana stepped over a steaming corpse of a genlock . . . or several genlocks—it was too hard to tell, frozen and shattered as the pieces were. She raised an eyebrow, impressed. There were quite a few more darkspawn bodies littered around the small wagon. Elissa was bent over a trap, trying to salvage what she could of its parts, Leliana assumed. Prince sat on the ground beside her while Morrigan rifled through the scattered corpses.

"Hey ho!" Bodahn called, emerging from the tarp where he and his son had hidden during the battle. "We're all safe here! Thanks to you and your friends."

Alistair gave a low whistle. "Here I thought we were having all the fun up there," he said with a cheery grin.

Elissa's head shot up. "There's nothing fun about this," she said, no trace of humor in her voice, and once again Leliana wanted to swat Alistair across the back of the head for riling her with his jokes. Why he insisted when he knew she never got them was a mystery to Leliana.

Morrigan snorted indecorously. "Unhappy because you almost had to get your hands dirty?"

Instead of glaring at the witch, Elissa seemed to shrug into herself, hunching over her trap and ignoring Morrigan's jibes. Alistair instantly turned worried. "Are you alright?" he said stepping toward her. "Did you get injured?"

Elissa blushed under his sudden concern. They could be kind of sweet together, Leliana often thought, when they weren't at each other's throats. The warden shook her head. "I'm fine . . . _this_ time," she said lowly.

Alistair knelt next to her so that they were at equal eye level. "Elissa . . ."

"It's not working anymore." She looked at Alistair helplessly. "The darkspawn . . . they can sense me now. They were drawn back here . . ."

"A dividing tactic. I thought this was the plan," Sten's voice rumbled from behind Leliana. She turned to see the giant staring down at the warden, his face an impenetrable mask as always.

Elissa must've seen some rebuke in it, however, for her cheeks colored and her gaze flicked around to her companions. "I just don't want to unnecessarily endanger the civilians . . ." she said, before shooting Alistair a significant look.

Alistair gave a shrug. "You'll just have to fight up front with us." It was his turn to shoot a look leaden with things unsaid at the other warden. "Just like I've been saying you should."

Leliana stifled the sigh that threatened to escape her. She could see that the wardens were on the verge of having yet another one of their disagreements. She didn't wonder at the tension—she knew the source of it. Elissa was trying to stay as far away from the enemy as she could, whereas Alistair thought he could better protect her if she stuck up close to the front, with him. It was an argument they'd had several times already. "Dividing the darkspawn up does appear to be an effective strategy," Leliana said after a moment, some impulse driving her to intervene for once.

Alistair gave a sigh of exasperation, but before he could restate his case yet again Elissa cleared her throat. "I'm far more effective at range," she said stiffly, not meeting anyone's gaze. "I just . . . it helps to have the time to set a trap or two."

"Exactly!" Leliana said, as if she had been agreeing with Elissa all along. She sheathed her daggers and stepped closer to her. "Which is why I'll stay back with you and fight from range as well," she said with a bright smile, before giving a self-effacing little shake of the head. "I'm _far_ better with a longbow than I am with blades anyway," she said confidentially to Elissa.

Elissa rose to her feet. "You fight with a bow, too?" The look the young warden leveled at her at her was more annoyed than grateful.

Leliana's smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. "But of course! To be truthful, the bow is my preferred weapon."

Elissa seemed to consider the information a moment before giving a slow nod of her head. "Yes," she said at last, looking as if it cost her something dear to admit it. "That will work."

It was some time before they were able to set off again, as the wardens insisted that all the bodies of the darkspawn be incinerated, lest they risk contaminating the very earth with their taint. As they were leaving Leliana gave the meadow one last glance over her shoulder . . .the once pastoral patch of land was now marred by great tracts of burnt out grass, the smoking bones of the darkspawn all that was left of the tainted monsters who'd infected the place.

She sighed and turned back to face the road they traveled. The battle had only strengthened her resolve. She was doing the right thing—serving the Maker's will by protecting countless families (and lovers) by eradicating the Blight.

She stole a glance at the warden to her right. Elissa walked beside her in silence, her gaze seeming to fix on some point ahead of them, but Leliana suspected she wasn't really _seeing_ anything. She had that far-off look she got at times, probably deep in contemplation of some mystery or other.

Leliana smiled to herself and resolved to walk a little farther in silence, not willing to risk her ire. The warden did not like to be interrupted when she was thinking.

Elissa didn't seem to like a lot of things, from what Leliana could tell. She didn't like small talk, for instance. After apparently being asked one too many times, Elissa had finally snapped at Leliana that she was _fine_, thank you very much, and that she would inform the bard at once if her status changed.

She gave a little sigh at the memory. Of all the warden's companions, she alone seemed immune to Elissa's curiosity. Perhaps Elissa felt she already knew all she needed to about Leliana. The thought caused her to frown at her toes. She hoped she hadn't already been judged and deemed beneath notice.

Of course, hadn't she done the same to Elissa? Alistair's attitude toward his fellow warden seemed to vacillate between amused annoyance and something like fondness, but he insisted to Leliana that in spite of her prickliness, Elissa really was kind of sweet underneath it all. So far Leliana had failed to see much beyond a spoiled, arrogant, too-smart noble.

She knew that wasn't the full story, and she hadn't tried all _that_ hard to get Elissa to like her, Leliana had to admit to herself. She supposed it had been an act of self-preservation—she hadn't wanted to face the truth of it if Elissa judged her harshly for her past. Sure, the fact that the girl had accepted an admitted murderer and an apostate into the group ought to mean she'd had no problems with her past, but in Leliana's experience people tended to judge religious folk more harshly for their crimes.

_No one likes a hypocrite._

Having admitted her failing to herself, Leliana spared another glance for her silent companion, resolving in that instant to win over the second warden, come what may. She was startled to find the girl already staring back at her.

"Something on your mind, Leliana?"

Leliana swallowed the irritation that rose up in her at the hint of smugness in Elissa's smile. She smiled brightly, determined not to give her the satisfaction of rankling her on this beautiful, now darkspawn-free day. "Yes, actually. I was hoping we could talk."

"What did you want to talk about?" Elissa's gaze strayed forward again, and she kept her tone impossibly even and unreadable.

Leliana pressed on, undeterred. "I wanted to talk to you about what we spoke of at our first meeting. About certain . . . _assertions_, that you made."

Elissa gave an irritated sigh. "You're not going to bother denying it, are you?"

Leliana kept her face a smooth mask. "No, but of course not. That would be stupid." She stopped walking and pulled Elissa aside so they could talk as the wagon rumbled by them. Elissa scowled up at her, and too late she remembered how affronted Elissa could be about unwanted touching. "Sorry," she breathed out quickly. "But I thought it important that we speak privately. I want you to know that in spite of my past . . . that's not who I am anymore. I gave up that life when I joined the Chantry."

Elissa held up a hand. "Stop. Please. This is _completely_ unnecessary. I don't care about your past."

She bit her lips to keep from stammering, blinking several seconds at Elissa's expression that was growing more bored by the second. She shook her head. "I don't understand—"

"_Honestly_, Leliana," Elissa intoned lowly. "We've got a man who murdered an entire family and an apostate who's been hunting templars since she got her first moon's blood." Leliana's eyes grew wide at that little detail of the swamp witch's life. She knew Elissa and the witch often spoke, but the most notable thing about those conversations were the explosive ways they tended to end, with Morrigan threatening to light Elissa's hair on fire if she had to listen to one more impertinent request. . .

She shook her head again, trying to understand. "So . . . you don't care about what I did? About who I was?"

Elissa looked her in the eye. "No," she said simply. "You're here because of your skills and what you can do. I have too much to do in too little time to worry about the souls of my companions I'm afraid."

Leliana stared at the girl in front of her, sure that she wasn't inventing a conflict where there'd been none. "Then why this resentment?" she asked softly.

Elissa's gaze snapped back to hers and her eyes widened. "Resentment? What do you mean?"

Leliana lowered her head to level a glare at the other girl. "Elissa . . . this is the most we've spoken since that day at the Chantry."

Elissa's brow furrowed and her mouth fell open as she stared back at Leliana, clearly surprised. She watched as Elissa appeared to contemplate Leliana's comment, before blushing and looking at her feet. "Oh," she said after a moment. "I . . . you're right. It's not that, though. I suppose the truth is, I was . . . am . . . a little . . . envious of you."

Leliana couldn't help her jaw falling open at the other woman's confession. She'd given the idea passing thought, but she would have never predicted that Elissa would _admit_ so much to her. "Oh. Elissa you needn't . . . Alistair and I are just friends."

Elissa's face turned to stark confusion for the span of several heartbeats, before comprehension dawned and a look of horror descended instead. "No! I don't mean that . . . I simply couldn't . . . not after . . ." Her face twisted into an expression of intense grief and she turned away.

Leliana's heart ached at the unexpected and sudden display of sadness. Her mouth went dry, and she felt foolish for having suggested such a thing. Alistair had intimated that Elissa had come to the wardens as a result of some vague tragedy, but she hadn't realized . . . "I'm sorry," she murmured and stepped closer, daring to put a hand on the other woman's elbow.

Elissa nodded briskly to herself, as if to shake off her intense reaction. "I said _envious_, not _jealous_," she corrected, not meeting the other woman's gaze."If I were interested in Alistair I'd be jealous of you, not envious of you."

Leliana let go of her arm. "Alright, why are you _envious_ of me?" she asked, straining to keep her voice light.

Elissa flicked her gaze to hers and then looked away. "I guess when we met, I thought you'd be more like . . . me." She returned her gaze to Leliana and said in all sincerity, "you know, _normal_."

She felt her eyebrows climb her forehead, as if by their own will. "Normal?" she asked, pleased that she was able to keep the amusement out of her tone.

Elissa rolled her eyes. She did that when she felt she was giving an unnecessary explanation, Leliana realized.

"You _know._" Leliana continued to look at her bemusedly so she went on. "Morrigan's a powerful apostate and the daughter of a legend. She can turn into a _giant spider_, and who knows what else she's capable of. I'd be terrified to sleep at night if we didn't have Alistair with us." Elissa gestured in the direction the rest of the caravan that was slowly moving away from them. "Oh yes, Alistair—an amazing warrior with templar abilities to boot. Not to mention Sten." She turned back to Leliana with a look of pure wonder. "Do you know that man survived more than twenty days without food or water?" She didn't give Leliana time to respond. "Amazing! That's just . . . it boggles the mind. And then there's you . . ." She trailed off and looked away.

"What about me?"

Elissa sighed and turned back to face her. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I wasn't expecting you to be so good at fighting. It's weak, and petty, and small and utterly _stupid_ of me to care, but there it is." She looked at her feet and mumbled. "I can't believe how you fight with two blades. I'd probably cut off my hand if I tried something like that."

Twice in as many conversations Elissa had left Leliana speechless. Had it been any other noblewoman Leliana would have deemed it all a manipulative stunt to win over Leliana's affections, but Elissa was so bloody _earnest_ when she spoke, Leliana could only conclude that she was sincere in her . . . surprisingly flattering confession.

"And now it turns out you can shoot as well," Elissa snorted out, turning to resume walking. "Come on, we're falling behind—"

Inspiration bubbled up inside her like a fountain. "I could teach you."

Elissa stopped and stared back at her. "What?"

Leliana felt breathless as the possibilities opened up before her. "I could teach you!" she repeated enthusiastically, bounding up two steps to stand in front of Elissa. She took hold of the other girl by the arms. "I'll show you how to fight with two blades—we can train together. It'll be fun!"

Elissa bit her lip and looked up at Leliana under a furrowed brow, clearly contemplating Leliana's offer, but something seemed to be holding her back. "I . . . couldn't impose—"

Leliana let go of her and waved her arm dismissively. "Nonsense! It'll be fun. We'll find a spot away from camp each night—with no one around to distract us, of course." She started walking, pulling the warden along with her, but not before noticing out of the corner of her eye that Elissa seemed to be looking more receptive. "I'll teach you some basics." She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I'll make a rogue out of you, you'll see!"

Elissa dug her heels into the ground and pulled them both to a stop. "You would really do this?"

"Of course I would. I would do anything to stop the Blight. Wouldn't you?"

She didn't think she was imagining how glassy Elissa's eyes got at that. "Thank you," she said thickly, gripping Leliana's hand in hers tightly for a few seconds, before letting go and straightening her posture. "That is . . . a _most_ practical and logical suggestion," she finished, far more formally than she'd been a moment before. She offered Leliana a little smile before turning and hurrying after the wagon.

Leliana smiled to herself as she raced to keep up, feeling her heart swell with the surety of her purpose.

* * *

They began Elissa's training that very night, stealing away from the others with the pretense of a scouting trip of the surrounding area. Leliana found a quiet clearing not unlike the site of their darkspawn battle from earlier that day.

"Do you really think I can learn this?" Elissa asked, holding the wooden swords awkwardly in her hands. They'd lucked out that Bodahn had any practice equipment at all. Leliana would have preferred to use daggers, but she supposed at this early stage any training at all was more helpful than none.

"Absolutely you can," she answered, and meant it. "All this fighting style requires is quickness and cleverness, and who is as quick and clever as you?"

Elissa rolled her eyes but still snorted a laugh. Leliana was pleased to see the compliment hit the mark.

"But before we begin with those, I want to show you some other tricks." She ran Elissa through some basic dirty fighting tactics. "Forget about fighting honorably," Leliana told her. "There's no honor in the heat of the battle, just your life or your opponent's. You must not be squeamish or hesitant when your life is on the line." She gestured with each word. "Groin. Neck. A knee, an eye—look for vulnerable places where you can strike to disable, if not kill."

Elissa nodded, flexing her fingers oddly at Leliana's instruction. She suddenly looked up in consternation. "Hair," she said simply, but Leliana immediately understood the look of distress that accompanied a seemingly innocuous word when Elissa gripped the end of her braid and looked down at it. "I should cut mine," she said, her face crumpling in misery.

Leliana pursed her lips. "Perhaps such a sacrifice is not necessary."

The look Elissa gave her was wary but hopeful. "It'd be the most practical solution," she began, but trailed off, unwilling to finish arguing for something she so clearly didn't want to do.

Leliana shook her head and stepped forward, taking the woman's braid in her hands. She held it up and then looked at Elissa, cocking her head to the side. "Or you could let me do your hair. I used to be a lady-in-waiting you know. I'm well versed in all manner of hairstyles. I could braid your hair around your head like a crown."

Elissa looked back at her doubtfully. "No, I simply couldn't allow you to do that . . ."

Leliana leaned in. "Oh, but I insist! Your hair is _beautiful_, so golden and shiny . . .it's been an age since I've been able to do a woman's hair as lovely as yours."

"Well," Elissa said, blushing slightly at Leliana's effusive praise. "If you insist . . . "

Later, by the campfire, she held up her gilded mirror for Elissa to admire her handiwork.

Elissa's eyes widened at the elaborate braided style Leliana had expertly woven her hair into. She burst into a lovely and genuine smile, before turning to Leliana with a look of pure gratitude.

Before she gushed her thanks, however, she seemed to catch herself in the moment. "Of course, the most important consideration is the practicality of the hairstyle," she began, clearly trying to keep her delight somewhat muted. "This does keep my hair from being an area of vulnerability," she said earnestly, before letting her lips grow into a wide smile. "But it is . . . nice that you managed to achieve such a flattering look for me."

Leliana beamed at the other woman sitting across from her on the log. "You are most welcome," she said, putting her brush and mirror back into her pack.

Before she knew what was happening Elissa crashed into her, surprising her with a sudden and intense hug. "Thank you," she whispered while squeezing her tight. "For everything." With that she released Leliana and sat back, leaving the former Chantry sister somewhat breathless. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

She bounced to her feet, nearly stumbling into Alistair who had unexpectedly appeared behind her. "Excuse me!" she said joyfully, giving Alistair's arm a playful squeeze before fairly skipping over to Morrigan's side of camp where the two women often spent the evenings brewing their concoctions.

Alistair watched the other warden race away, before turning back to Leliana with an awed stare. "What in the void did you do to her?"

Leliana laughed but didn't answer, thinking to herself, _only what I was meant to do. _She hummed a little tune as she put away her comb and mirror, recalling with a smile how soft Elissa's golden hair had felt under her fingertips.

* * *

_Author's note: Apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I'd originally intended a completely different one, with Alistair in Redcliffe, but Leliana inserted her dainty foot here instead. Many thanks to **Riptide Monzarc**__for taking a look and offering wonderful commentary and suggestions. Thanks to all of you for following and reviewing! _


	16. Evidence

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 16: Evidence_

_And hence no evidence to support  
__Any theory I have handy  
__That you could understand me  
_—_Ray, _Aimee Mann_  
_

_The Chantry must breed good storytellers,_ Elissa mused as she sat listening to Leliana, resting her back against the trunk of a wide oak tree. Both the ex-Templar and ex-Chantry sister had a way with words, she had to admit, and she found herself joining in with Alistair's laughter at Leliana's vivid description of a horrified noblewoman with bird shit on her head.

She enjoyed these moments when she didn't think on them overmuch. The first night she'd deigned to spend with Leliana and Alistair by the campfire (rather than by herself making traps or with Morrigan, making potions) she'd been vividly reminded of times spent with Fergus and Oriana.

Fergus was always joking—often at Elissa's expense. She had tolerated it because deep down she knew that her brother loved her. Likewise, once she'd begun to accept that Alistair's teasing hadn't been directed at her maliciously, she found herself rolling her eyes good naturedly and joining in with a laugh more often than getting annoyed at him, lately.

The foreign accent helped, but it wasn't the only thing about Leliana that reminded her of Oriana, with her love of all things feminine—dresses and shoes and _hair_. Even if Elissa didn't find the topics particularly scintillating they were familiar enough to draw her into a chatty sort of friendship with the ex-Chantry sister.

It had been very comfortable that first night by the fire in their company, right up until it wasn't. Perhaps predictably, thinking about her family brought up other unwanted memories. The image of Oriana's broken, bleeding body lying in a pool of her own blood sprung to mind, along with the memory of how cold Oriana's skin had felt under her fingertips when she'd reached out to confirm what all her other senses had told her to be true.

She had turned to Alistair then, only to see Fergus' face staring back at her, a suddenly unfamiliar and unrecognizable laugh coming out of his mouth, and she was struck by the horrid thought that she'd likely never hear the true sound of her brother's laugh again.

She'd stood up, blinking away sudden tears and babbling some excuse about needing to get back to work. She stomped away almost blindly before finding herself drawn to Morrigan's side of camp.

At least Morrigan didn't remind her of anyone. And she never had to worry that an unexpected and unasked for display of sympathy from _her _would leave Elissa suddenly on the verge of tears, as often happened in the company of her generous and kindhearted new friends. The way both Alistair and Leliana would look at her sometimes when they thought she couldn't see—the pity in their eyes . . . it made her want to flee their presence.

She didn't deserve it, anyway.

But today the topic was light enough (if a bit gross) for Elissa's taste. It didn't hit any nerves or bring up any painful memories, so she enjoyed their brief respite from the mid-morning sun as the trio rested beneath the shade.

They were getting very close to Redcliffe, according to Alistair. He'd said they would be able to see it soon. Once they hit the peak of the hill they'd slowly been making their way up for the last day, they'd descend and eventually the trees would thin enough to give them a view of the village.

She suspected that she herself was the cause of their frequent breaks. She doubted either Leliana or Alistair truly needed the rest. Alistair had the exceptional physique of a man whose entire life had been dedicated to training and combat, while Leliana's time in the Chantry had not done much to soften the rogue's lithe yet unexpectedly muscled body either, Elissa couldn't help but notice. As for the others, Morrigan often took to the skies as a bird, scouting out the surrounding area, and so far Elissa had seen no sign that the witch found that particularly taxing. Sten had spent the last near month in a cage, but she could see no traces of exhaustion on the giant's face or in the way he moved.

Her pride might've demanded that she refuse to accept the unasked for concession had she not lacked the energy such an exchange would likely require. And she'd be hard pressed to argue against the evidence Alistair would use to indicate she did, in fact, need to take it easy. She knew she had dark circles under her eyes, and that she often stumbled through their treks, even when they stuck to the even ground of the Imperial Highway. She couldn't help it. She was so blasted exhausted all the time.

So she let herself enjoy the rest and closed her eyes, relaxing against a tree, as Leliana launched into a story about another Orlesian noble. Before she knew it she was being shaken awake by Morrigan.

The witch's face was somber. "Come with me. You need to see this."

Elissa blinked after her retreating form before scrambling to her feet. Alistair looked up at her and frowned, his disapproval for all things Morrigan evident on his face.

She ignored him and hurried to follow. Whatever the witch wanted, it was bound to be interesting.

"'Tis a wonder to me how you endure their presence," Morrigan said from the trees up ahead of her, without turning around. "How do you not tire of their incessant chatter?"

Elissa rolled her eyes behind Morrigan's back, before finally drawing even with her. "They are both _nice_," she said, trying to keep from sounding winded. _Maker_, everyone she traveled with had so much energy. "It's not a hardship."

"Nice?" Morrigan repeated incredulously. "A completely meaningless term—"

"Pleasant. Agreeable. _Kind_. Good-natured," Elissa ticked off the definitions on her fingers. "Hardly a meaningless term."

Morrigan snorted derisively. "Regardless, such a quality has no value. Tis only a thing to be used in the service of manipulating others. It should play _no_ role in determining the worth of another person."

Elissa couldn't help but smile to herself, though she hid it behind her hand so that Morrigan wouldn't see. The woman was the only person Elissa had ever met who could straight-facedly argue against such basic human virtues as _kindness._

Of course, that's how Morrigan saw the world: life was a zero sum game and every action had to be weighed only against the benefit or harm to her person alone. By that solipsistic sort of logic, anything that served one's own self-interest could be justified.

It was a fascinating perspective, and Elissa loved their debates on the subject. While she often disagreed with Morrigan's conclusions, she couldn't help but admire the self-determined sort of logic that got her there.

"You're wrong," she said after walking a few moments in contemplative silence. She'd had some time over the last couple of days to consider this topic. "Being polite helps to avoid conflict, and anything that helps keep order and guards against chaos is inherently good," she finished, pleased with her logical argument in favor of etiquette.

"What is this _order_ that you speak of?" Morrigan barked a derisive laugh. "Look around you, noble _brat_. Chaos is the natural state of the world." She halted suddenly and turned to face Elissa, crossing her arms to her chest.

Elissa stumbled to a halt, barely managing to avoid crashing into Morrigan. Something in the witch's eye stopped her from continuing their philosophical debate, however. She was giving Elissa a challenging smirk.

She looked around. They'd reached the top of the hill Alistair said overlooked the village of Redcliffe. The crest of it sat some hundred feet above the Imperial Highway that wound its way through the southern hills of Ferelden up to the village. Morrigan had taken her through the woods directly to the top, not bothering to follow the path of the road.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at her and then gestured at the massive oak tree to her left. "Go on," she said. "Up you go. Unless you've somehow managed to gain the gift of flight . . ."

Elissa glared at the witch doubtfully for a second before turning to examine the tree, trying to ignore the jibe at her lack of magical ability. Morrigan could ferret out weakness in a person like Prince could catch a scent. She'd gathered from Elissa's breathless questioning, no doubt, how much she envied her magical abilities, and ever since had wasted no opportunity to point out her deficiency.

The closest branch was above her head, though it looked to be in reach. She frowned at the tree trunk a moment, before sighing deeply and turning to Morrigan. "A little help, please?"

The witch narrowed her eyes and her lip curved deeper into the smirk she was sporting, but she knelt without saying a word and linked her fingers together, lowering her hands so that Elissa might step into them and boost herself into the tree.

Elissa had no earthly clue why Morrigan wanted her to climb it, but she wasn't about to admit as much. She stepped into the swamp witch's hands and launched herself upward, using her momentum to swing herself onto the lowest branch.

Once she'd started climbing her mind began racing. Morrigan must want her to see something—something she'd been able to spot as a bird, flying overhead. Elissa frowned and wiped the sweat away from her forehead, before reaching up to the next branch to hoist her higher into the tree. What could she have seen?

Her curiosity seemed to refresh her tired limbs to help propel her up to the top of the tree, high enough to finally poke her head out above the leaves and gaze at the vista before her, balancing delicately on the branch at her feet.

The view just about stopped her breath.

Redcliffe village was actually quite beautiful. The shops and homes that made up the bulk of the small community sat nestled on stilts to keep them from collapsing with the erosion of the picturesque burgundy cliffs that had given the village its name. Elissa marveled at the ingenuity of both the village's design and the magnificent castle that sat on a higher cliff, linked to the village below by a large stone bridge.

Alongside the village sat the serene, impossibly blue waters of Lake Calenhad.

Elissa allowed herself a moment to breathe it all in, closing her eyes. The lake was a freshwater one, unlike the seawater Castle Cousland sat above, and yet the air smelled familiar enough to strike Elissa's heart with a sudden and painful sort of homesickness.

She opened her eyes and frowned out at the beautiful panorama before her, dragging her focus back to the task at hand and squashing the sadness that threatened to rise up within her.

She doubted Morrigan had gone to the trouble of dragging her out here just to bask together in awe of the beauty of nature. What had the witch seen that she wanted Elissa to notice?

It only took a few seconds before it hit her. She realized what was missing in the beautiful vista: ships. At this time of day, this time of year, Lake Calenhad should have been bustling with trade, and yet not a sail marred the clean line of the horizon where the water met the sky.

She inhaled a sharp breath. If Loghain's army had disrupted trade along the waters of the lake, there would be signs of extra troops occupying the small village. But, there was no evidence of that when Elissa peered at the hazy sky above Redcliffe. That many additional people would surely equal more cook fires burning, not just in the town limits, but all across the country side where an army would settle.

And yet, there were few chimneys with smoke emanating from them, she observed idly, before the thought caused her to stand up straighter and widen her eyes. In fact, barely any homes seemed to have a fire in the hearth, and while the day had turned into a lovely warm one, it wasn't so hot as to explain why nearly two thirds of the homes in Redcliffe appeared completely lifeless.

Elissa's throat went dry, and she scrambled down the tree as fast as her shaking limbs would take her. She got to the last branch and jumped, landing with a _thud_ in front of Morrigan.

"Alright, I see it," she breathed. "Get down there—inconspicuously, _obviously_, and find out what is going on."

If Morrigan had hoped for a detailed summation of what Elissa had surmised, she didn't let it show. She merely nodded and in a flash of blinding magic shape-shifted into a bird, cawing loudly as she flew away.

Elissa stared for a moment, wondering once again how it was that Morrigan could shape-shift not only her body, but apparently everything she was wearing or carrying. _Magic_, she snorted to herself as she hurried down the hill to join the others. _It makes no blasted sense at all!_

* * *

"There's something wrong with Redcliffe."

Alistair and Leliana both looked at her from where they were sitting by the wagon. "What are you talking about?" Alistair asked.

She licked her lips, suddenly aware of all the eyes upon her. Bodahn and his son also took a few steps closer and Sten looked up from where he'd been sharpening his great sword.

She turned back to Alistair, trying to ignore the pounding in her heart. Something about the way the giant regarded her always left her feeling so inadequate. "There's not a ship to be seen on Lake Calenhad," she said flatly. "That strike you as unusual?"

Alistair shared a worried glance with Leliana. "What else?" he said lowly, rising to his feet.

Elissa took a deep breath, feeling at least a little encouraged by the implicit trust he showed in her conclusion. "There are far too few cook fires burning in Redcliffe village, this time of day and year . . . it's as if the population has been cut by two-thirds."

Leliana gasped. "Did the darkspawn attack?" she asked.

Elissa and Alistair shared a look. He shook his head at Leliana. "I don't sense any darkspawn nearby . . ."

"Of course not," Elissa said breathlessly. "If the darkspawn had attacked, I doubt there'd be _any_ villagers left."

They all fell silent for a few seconds as they contemplated the mystery. "So if it isn't darkspawn, what is it? What happened to the village?"

The way Alistair asked her the question as if fully expecting her to know the answer made her feel all the more frustrated for not having it. She frowned up at him, unable to voice the hated words _I don't know, _trying like hell to think of absolutely anything remotely plausible to explain why two thirds of the population of Redcliffe were simply unaccounted for.

They'd been traveling on the only route to Redcliffe, and they'd seen not one person coming from the other direction. If the citizens had evacuated, where to?

She might believe whatever illness that had befallen the Arl had also afflicted the village, but if people were dying . . . where were the funeral pyres? That many corpses would have to be dealt with, and fairly recently. Alistair had told her that Duncan had been in Redcliffe not two weeks ago.

It didn't make any _sense._ Of course, when things didn't make sense, that probably meant there was some kind of _magic_ involved, she thought, frowning at her feet in frustration as the seconds ticked by. Maybe that was it. Everyone just up and vanished in a blink of magic. That certainly made more sense than someone doing . . . _something_ . . . with all those bodies . . .

_Unless . . _. Her eyes went wide and her hand flew to her mouth. "The _bodies_ . . ." she said quietly. "Oh, _Maker_ . . ."

Alistair took a step forward. "What is it?"

"It's . . . the only explanation that makes any sense," she whispered. "It has to be—"

Before she could finish there was a flash of light and a large _crack_ and then Morrigan was suddenly standing beside them. "Undead," she finished for Elissa, casting her gaze around the assembled party. "Redcliffe has been beset by an army of undead for the past three nights."

The gasps from everyone helped drown out the frustrated growl Elissa made at Morrigan's interruption. "I was just about to say that!" she snapped, and then immediately felt foolish when everyone turned to look at her doubtfully. "Well, I'd have gotten there _eventually_, I'm certain."

Morrigan's eyebrow quirked up in amusement at that, but Elissa pointedly looked away.

"Are you certain about this?" Leliana asked Morrigan.

The witch nodded. "'Tis the sole focus of the remaining villagers. They wail to the heavens and whine that no one will save them before nightfall. 'Tis most entertaining."

Alistair made a strangled noise but Leliana placed a calming hand on his arm before he could get going. "What could cause this?" she asked.

"Spirits possessing the dead." Morrigan looked thoughtful. "There could be several causes behind such a thing." She gave Elissa a pointed look. "_None_ of them pleasant."

Alistair finally gained his voice. "We have to help them! I mean," he turned to Elissa with a pleading look. "You want to help them, don't you?"

Morrigan gave a snort. "How pointless, to help these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere."

"I agree," Sten's voice rumbled through the clearing, shocking them all into turning toward him. He'd been standing off to the side so silently Elissa had forgotten he was even there. "There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain. It is a fool's errand."

Elissa's heart was thumping wildly in her chest as the collective gaze of her gathered party fell upon her. She looked at Alistair with wide eyes, wondering how he could possibly stand by and let her—a near stranger—decide the fate of the village he'd known as home for the formative years of his youth. If it had been her, if it had been Highever—

She clenched her jaw and tore her gaze away from Alistair, knowing she needed to suppress her instinctive reaction to blurt out that _of course_ they would stay and help, for this was Alistair's _home_ for the Maker's sake. But, she hadn't been recruited for her instincts, she reminded herself. She was recruited for her reasoning.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to think of the right question that would make their course of action clear. "Say we leave Redcliffe to its fate," she said, opening her eyes to drift her gaze across her companions. "Then what?"

Leliana gasped again at Elissa's suggestion, and Alistair growled out, "You _cannot_ be serious."

She whirled on the two. "Just _shut up_ for a second!" she hissed, shooting daggers at them with her eyes. They both scowled back at her, but at least they fell silent. She tried to will down the panic she felt creeping up in her at their disapproving looks. _If they would just _give_ me a blasted second to explain._ She took a deep breath, and then turned back to Morrigan. "What do you know about undead?"

Morrigan's shrewd gaze had witnessed the tension between the other three. She narrowed her eyes and answered, nevertheless. "There are many sorts of undead, but the most common are mindless monsters bent on destroying life."

"So what happens when they succeed?"

Morrigan shrugged a be-feathered shoulder. "Everyone in the village dies."

Elissa ignored the grumble from Alistair at that. "And then what?"

Morrigan stared at her for a long moment before giving a begrudging nod. "And then . . . their numbers will feed the undead army."

"Ahh, _interesting!"_ Elissa said letting her eyes go wide. "So . . . we leave Redcliffe to its fate, let's say. How long until we're contending with a rampaging, ever-growing undead army cutting a swath through Ferelden, in _addition_ to the darkspawn horde?"

It took a few moments for the gist of her words to sink into her companions, but then they all seemed to realize what she was saying at once. Alistair stepped forward, staring intently at Elissa. "So . . . what do you want to do?"

Her throat felt thick at his guarded expression. She nodded briskly. "We can't have an undead army harrying the countryside in addition to the darkspawn. And Redcliffe is too important to let fall." She lifted her chin and cast her gaze around her companions, daring them to defy her. "Let's get down there as soon as possible—no more breaks."

Her companions paused for a few seconds, and then everyone seemed to start moving at once. Sten sheathed his great sword, while Leliana knelt to gather up the remains of the meal they'd been enjoying. Morrigan took off once again and the dwarves started preparing the wagon for travel.

It seemed the debate was over.

Elissa took a few moments to close her eyes and breathe deeply as the others rapidly picked up camp around her.

When she opened them, Alistair stood in front of her, an unreadable (_for once_) expression on his face. "Thanks," he said, at her quizzical look. "For agreeing to help." He paused a beat. "For a moment there . . . I thought you might decide it wasn't worth it."

Elissa swallowed the defensive retort that almost flew out of her lips. _Of course we were always going to help,_ she had wanted to say, but stopped herself. She looked back at him calmly instead. "I have to consider everyone's input," she said evenly.

His reaction was telling. "Do you though? Really? Her opinion is always going to be the same—never help anyone at all, _ever_."

Elissa sighed deeply, not bothering to ask who Alistair was talking about. Alistair didn't complain much, but when he did, it was always about Morrigan. "Regardless of your personal feelings for the woman, Morrigan _does_ provide valuable insight. Her perspective is unfettered by cultural and societal biases you and I are probably not even aware of—" She saw the way his eyes unfocused and he stared off above her head, and she knew that she had lost him. She frowned up at him. "All voices should be heard when we're making important decisions, Alistair. Any good leader knows that. You'll need to consider more than one opinion when you're king, rather than simply—"

She realized her mistake seconds after the words had left her mouth.

Alistair's gaze sharpened back on to her. "I'm _not_ going to be king," he growled.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, suppressing the _of course you are_ response that had nearly flown out of her mouth. She thought it best that Alistair come to accept the inevitability of his situation sooner rather than later, but she hated how angry he got when she pressed the issue. "_If_ you're going to be king," she said with a frustrated sigh.

It was enough to make Alistair pause. She normally didn't back down an inch on this issue. He squinted at her. "_If_? You're actually conceding a point to me?" he asked, a smile starting to form on his lips.

She stared back up at him, fighting to keep the smirk off her face that was threatening to appear. "Well," she said with a shrug. "To be honest we'll both probably die long before that happens."

That earned her a snort of a laugh and with it Elissa felt a little of the tension seep out of her body. Her pessimistic assessments of their chances always seemed to amuse Alistair, for some reason. She didn't quite understand why, but she was happy to have side-stepped an argument with the man, for once.

She knelt to help Leliana gather their things, trying not to think about how accurate her pessimistic prediction might be as they prepared themselves to enter Redcliffe to fight an undead army.

* * *

_This chapter has been revised slightly since I first published it this morning, to make Elissa's conclusion not quite so implausible (and not quite complete). Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!_


	17. Tell

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 17: Tell_

_Cause it's burning through the bloodline  
__It's cutting down the family tree  
__Growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me  
__-Landscape, _Florence + the machine_  
_

"You don't believe Loghain's lies?"

"What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked _everything_ in the name of glory? Hardly." Bann Teagan gave an indignant snort. "Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don't believe it. It is an act of a desperate man."

Alistair had always liked the bann, but right about now he felt like hugging the man. Teagan had been the only person in all of Redcliffe to recognize him (well, _almost _recognize him). Not that he'd wanted, necessarily, to be recognized as the "castle bastard" he'd been known as in the village. But it had felt odd to walk in such a familiar place and have everyone regard him as a stranger.

But more important than that, Tegan was also clearly on their side.

"Bann Teagan. It is good to see you've decided to align yourself with reason in this instance."

Alistair turned to Elissa in surprise. Her tone was icily formal. Teagan's gave a small gasp. "Lady Elissa?" His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before his gaze darted to Alistair and then back to her.

Elissa's gaze seemed to harden in response. She inclined her head a fraction of an inch, but didn't offer any more in way of greeting. "So you survived. That is more good news," Teagan went on breathlessly, either ignoring or not noticing the way she was glaring at him. "Howe would have everyone believe—"

At the mention of the name _Howe_, Elissa flinched and looked down. Teagan faltered, but then took a step toward her. He bent his head and spoke in a low voice that only those nearest to him could hear. "Let me just say how very sorry I am for your loss, and for the tragedy your family has endured." Elissa looked up at the bann, her brows reversing direction, though still pulled together. "One of Loghain's greatest crimes is letting Howe's traitorous lies stand. Believe me, he will _not_ get away with this, my lady."

"Thank you, Bann Teagan," she said quietly, her face softening at Teagan's sincerity. After just a moment, however, she narrowed her eyes. "So, you were in Denerim?"

Teagan nodded. "I was there when Loghain informed the nobility of the events at Ostagar. Trust me when I tell you I was _not_ the only skeptical member of his audience."

It was welcome news, but it didn't seem to matter to Elissa. "So you weren't in Redcliffe two or three weeks ago?" Teagan started to shake his head _no_ in confusion. "No time in the last month?"

"I . . . no, my lady. This is the first time I've been back in Redcliffe all year." He frowned in confusion. "But we have more pressing matters to discuss."

"Quite right," Elissa said, nodding briskly. She smiled warmly at Teagan, and the tension that seemed to sit on her shoulders since they entered the Chantry was gone. "The undead attacks," she prodded.

Teagan rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "I'm not sure how much Tomas has told you, but I imagine you have many questions—"

"Not as many as you might think," Alistair said out of the side of his mouth.

It was loud enough for Teagan to hear, and to his surprise the bann laughed, and then looked right at Elissa. "Of course," he said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you tell me what it is _you_ need to know, Lady Elissa, and then we can go from there."

* * *

"So, wait, you know the bann?" They'd only walked a few steps away from Teagan after assuring him that they would consult with the mayor on how best to defend the village. Elissa gave him that look that meant _obviously, you idiot_, and Alistair gave a little sigh of frustration. "No, I mean he _knows_ you." He stopped and she stopped with him. "Knows how smart you are," he added, for clarity's sake. It was Elissa after all.

She met his gaze, and Alistair braced himself for her retort. But she surprised him by simply saying, "Yes." That was all she felt was needed, apparently, because she turned away to resume her walk.

He grabbed her arm, ignoring the pointed look Leliana shot him. "Wait, Elissa, _wait." _She turned around and glared at him, but he didn't think he was being unreasonable. "What was all that about Denerim and his whereabouts? Why do you care?"

He half expected her to simply snap at him that it was none of his business. Elissa had an almost pathological aversion to answering any sort of question about her person or her life before the Wardens. But this time, she just lowered her head and said, "Not now," giving him a glance that he understood meant they would discuss it at another time, when they were alone.

"Fine," he said, letting his hand fall. Elissa resumed her march out the Chantry.

"Elissa," Morrigan fell into step beside her. "Our supplies run low—"

"Right. Elfroot. See if you can find any on the outskirts of the village." She held up a hand in warning. "But remember, leaving the village can trigger an attack, so don't stray far." Even Alistair could tell that Morrigan was happy with the assignment. The witch had seemed on edge since they entered the village-she was probably happy for an excuse to leave. At least, until Elissa's gaze fell to the mabari at her side. "Take Prince with you."

Morrigan gave a disgusted snort, but Elissa turned on her heel and kept walking before the witch could voice her disquiet. Alistair shot her a smirk before hurrying after Elissa himself.

The bright sun was nearly blinding when Elissa let it in, swinging the large Chantry doors wide. Without a word, Morrigan stalked off, Prince happily wagging his tail after her.

Alistair and the others followed. She paused at the top of the steps that lead down into the training yard, where the villagers were practicing, looking at Alistair as he drew next to her. "So this is the army we have to work with," she said, nodding at the villagers.

"This is no army." Sten stood on the other side of Elissa, and they both turned to face the giant as he spoke. His face was the same resolute mask it always was. "These are farmers, shopkeepers, millers—untrained in the art of war." He let his violet-eyed gaze fall on Elissa, and Alistair had to repress a shudder. "Without intervention, their chances of surviving another night are slim."

A few of the villagers who were milling about on the Chantry's porch turned their heads at that rumbling statement, looking suddenly more fearful. Alistair couldn't blame them. He felt his own pulse thrum in his throat at the giant's words, worried that he would convince Elissa to abandon the village to its fate.

"Yeah well, that's why we're here," he added loudly. "We're the intervention."

Elissa turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "That's true," she said, offering him a little smile, before turning thoughtfully to the yard. "Can they be taught anything in a few hours' time?" She looked up at Sten with the question, and Alistair couldn't help feeling a little bit disappointed. He understood that Sten had experience in the Qunari army, but he was no stranger to military life, either.

Sten's face remained impassive as he looked at the villagers. "Some basic combat tactics can be learned in a matter of hours," he said, and then turned to look at Elissa. "Whether these villagers can be taught is another question."

Elissa nodded thoughtfully. "Good," she said, before turning to Alistair. "What's your assessment?"

He smiled, realizing that she did, in fact, want to hear his opinion. He scanned the villagers. "Armor," he said, after a few seconds. "Weapons they seem to have and plenty, though what shape they're in I really couldn't tell you. But most of these men are in their street clothes."

"Excellent point." Elissa looked up at him thoughtfully. "Did the village have a blacksmith when you lived here?"

"I think so," Alistair said, looking out across the village. "There." He pointed at the house that sat at the edge of the practice yard. No smoke emerged from the building's distinctively wide chimney. He shrugged down at Elissa. "Maybe he died?"

She didn't answer, only nodded to herself and started walking. The rest followed.

A pile of crates, along with sharpened pikes of wood thrust into the ground at an angle, helped serve as a sort of barricade between the yard of the Chantry and the rest of the village. As they filed through a small gap in the blockade, a man with an impressive mustache and braided sideburns came into view.

Another man with a bow on his back approached him deferentially. "Still no sign of them coming from the castle, Murdock."

"Tell them to maintain watch," Murdock grumbled in a low, gravelly voice. "I don't want a surprise attack before the sun goes down."

"That seems unlikely," Elissa said crisply, walking up to the two men. "From what I've gathered they only attack at night, or when anyone attempts to leave the village."

Murdock gave her an uncertain look before turning back to the archer. "That'll be all, son."

The archer cast a nervous glance at the strange party in front of Murdock, before turning on his heel and fleeing. Murdock turned back to Elissa, regarding her with his hard brown eyes. His frown grew deeper as he scrutinized her.

Elissa lifted a hand as if to adjust the leather armor she wore, but then seemed to think better of it and let it fall beside her, blushing faintly at the mayor's obvious examination. "You must be the mayor of the village," she said stiffly.

"Or what's left of it. Name's Murdock. I take it you're the Grey Wardens?" he asked, letting his hard gaze wander to the party before him. Suddenly Alistair felt relieved that Morrigan wasn't with them. Murdock turned back to Elissa. "I didn't think they made women Grey Wardens."

Elissa's flush deepened. "We're not here to discuss your ignorance," she snapped, and Alistair had to stifle a groan. "We're here to discuss the situation."

The man's eyebrows climbed his forehead, before he shrugged, and Alistair thought his expression looked a little defeated. "We aren't going to turn aside anyone who wants to help. Don't take me for being an ingrate or nothing."

"Well, we _do_ want to help, however we can," Alistair interjected, hoping to project a more friendly face than Elissa had. He shot her a warning look, hoping she'd take the hint and play nice. "You can trust us."

"Why is the blacksmith not working?" Elissa asked without preamble, and Alistair could only sigh and hope the mayor wasn't too thrown by her . . . conversational idiosyncrasies.

"That . . . is an issue," Murdock conceded, nodding his head and shooting a glare at the house closest to them. "Owen's the only blacksmith in town, but the stubborn fool refuses to even talk. If we're to be ready for tonight, we'll need that crotchety bastard's help."

"Alright, so convince the blacksmith to get back to work." She gestured with her head at the practice yard. "Your men are unseasoned and untrained," she said bluntly. "Is there no one in the village with combat experience?"

Murdock shrugged. "There's Ser Perth, and what knights from Redcliffe have returned, but most of the villagers are more used to wielding a plow than a sword." His gaze hardened and he looked out toward the lake, over their heads. "'course there's Dwyn, too, but the bastard flat out refuses to fight." He shook his head in disgust. "Having a veteran fighter like him could really help."

Elissa's gaze followed the mayor's. "Tell me about Dwyn."

"He's a trader. A dwarf. Lives near the lake. Locked himself up in his home with some of his workers, says he doesn't need any of us."

Elissa made a thoughtful hum before nodding her head in Sten's direction. "Your men . . . do you think they'd learn from a Qunari?"

Murdock gave soft snort. "A Qunari? You don't say." He nodded eventually. "They will if I tell them to."

"Excellent," Elissa said, nodding for Sten to follow Murdock. The mayor took his leave, leading the Qunari off to the practice yard, leaving only the three of them.

"Leliana, I think perhaps _you_ should talk to the blacksmith," Elissa said, once the others were gone. "Convince him of the justice of our cause, if you will."

"That's a great idea," Alistair said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, if Elissa's raised eyebrow was any indication. But he couldn't help being relieved that she was delegating this important task to Leliana. The ex-Chantry sister had a way with people that Elissa . . . didn't.

Before Elissa could give any retort, Leliana waved a hand. "I'll have him making repairs again in the hour," she said. "Do not worry."

She gave a little curtsey and then walked away, leaving only Elissa and Alistair. He turned to her expectantly. "What do you want me to do?"

"How much difference can one veteran fighter really make?" she asked in a low, hushed tone.

He didn't think he imagined the candor that he only ever seemed to hear in her voice when it was just the two of them, alone. She trusted him enough to ask him questions she wouldn't pose in front of the others. He tried to answer seriously. "Honestly? Quite a bit. You'd be surprised at how much difference one experienced fighter can make in a battle."

"Well then, it seems my path is clear . . ." She seemed to trail off at the end, and though she didn't look at him, Alistair got the feeling she was expecting him to say something.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

She looked at him then, a faint smile on her lips, before shrugging and casting her gaze back to the village. "That might be prudent."

"Sounds good to me." They turned in unison to head toward the village, and then Alistair stopped and looked back. "Should we get directions from the mayor?"

Elissa smirked at him. "Do you really think I can't find the house of the only dwarf in Redcliffe without directions?"

He barked a laugh out at that. "No, of course not," he said, shaking his head and making a grand gesture toward the rest of the village. "Lead on."

Not ten minutes later they stood before a completely nondescript home that overlooked the shore of Lake Calenhad.

"Well," Elissa said with a sigh. "This is it."

Alistair frowned at the home in front of him, trying to see it the way Elissa must have. He had expected to find a house with a modified staircase, perhaps, or a smaller door, or windows that sat lower to the ground. This home had no such obvious modifications. After a few more moments of futile scrutiny, he shrugged. "Alright, I give up. How can you tell?"

The corner of her mouth curved upward. "It's the only house on the lake with anybody in it."

In an instant, Alistair realized it was true. There wasn't a sign of life from any of the homes that bordered the shore of Lake Calenhad. "Aww."

She shook her head seriously. "I know. I was disappointed with how easy it was too," she said, before bounding up the stairs to the door.

He smiled to himself as he followed her. She rapped on the door loudly, but there was no answer. She looked at Alistair over her shoulder and he shrugged. She tried the door, but finding it locked, knelt in front of it, reaching a hand into the satchel she wore at her hip and coming out with a couple of tools that looked remarkably like lock picks.

His eyes went wide. "You pick locks now?"

"Leliana taught me," she said, squinting at the lock as she struggled with it.

Alistair blinked down at her in even more surprise. "Leliana picks locks, now?"

She gave him that look, and went back to her work. A pink tongue escaped the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on the lock before her. But then he heard a sharp clang and Elissa startled.

"Blast it!" she said, holding up a broken lock pick. She stood and turned to him. "Now what?"

"Now, I guess we … break down the door or admit defeat."

Her eyes went wide but her lips pursed in excitement. She narrowed her eyes. "I hate admitting defeat."

He gave her a wide grin. "Me too," he said, and she took a step back, looking at him expectantly. He shook his head and laughed, and then slammed into the door with all his might, splintering the wood and spilling into the home.

Elissa followed right on his heels, and once Alistair steadied himself he realized how lucky it was that he'd come along.

Turned out, Dwyn wasn't alone.

The heavily armored dwarf stood in the center of his small living room flanked by two rough looking men in leather armor. The one on the left had a menacing black tattoo that covered half his face in a fearsome mask. The other was a bald thug with a great two-hand sword strapped to his back.

"Wonderful," the dwarf spat out. "Intruders. I hope you have a good reason for breaking and entering my home."

Elissa slid around Alistair to his left. "Well, you wouldn't answer," she said and stepped forward.

Tattoo Face took a step forward too, and Elissa came to an abrupt halt. For the first time, she seemed to notice the menacing figures. "And we broke the lock . . ." she trailed off as the thug in front of her leered at her, lip curling into a sneer as he looked her up and down. She swallowed audibly. "Admittedly it seems a rather impulsive choice in hindsight." She shot a glance at Alistair, as if the whole thing had been his idea.

Which he supposed was true, he realized, feeling the throb in his shoulder where he'd slammed into it.

"No, _no,_ have the run of the place," the dwarf said. "It's not like I could stop people like you, anyway. The name's Dwyn. Pleased to meet you. Now, kindly tell me why you're here."

Elissa looked at him doubtfully, and in spite of the tension in the room Alistair could have laughed to see her struggling to interpret the man's sarcastic tone. "Right," she said taking a casual step backward and closer to Alistair. He held up a hand to keep her from backing into him, and she stopped with a jolt once her back touched it.

She glanced back at him uncertainly, before turning to the dwarf. "Why are you shut up in here?"

The dwarf scoffed, and his two thugs smirked at each other over his head. "We have supplies to last for quite some time, and my boys and I can swing a weapon better than any of those fools out there."

"I see," Elissa said, narrowing her eyes at the dwarf. She scanned the house briefly before giving a shrug. "Alright then, stay in here if you prefer."

The dwarf smirked. "That's a mighty fine suggestion. I think I'll do that."

Alistair let out a snort of disbelief. "That's it? You're just giving up? You and I have had longer arguments about breakfast!"

She flushed, but gave another shrug. "I'm not inclined to save him from his own stupidity and short-sightedness—"

"_What_ did you say?" Dwyn growled at them, hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his sword.

Alistair could have laughed if the situation hadn't turned quite so menacing. He took a step forward, raising his hands in a gesture of peace (and also putting himself between Elissa and the thugs). "She didn't mean anything by it, _trust_ me."

"By what?" Elissa asked in a bewildered tone.

He looked back at her exasperatingly. "_Short _-sighted?" he whispered.

Her eyes went wide with comprehension and one of her hands flew to her mouth. "S_hort-_sighted," she snorted. "That's funny. Because he's a _dwarf_."

Alistair winced, turning back to see Dwyn glaring at them, nostrils flaring.

"Why don't you tell them why you think that?" he asked, hoping to avoid a fight that was looking more inevitable by the second.

His instinct was a good one. She straightened and smothered the last of her laughter.

"Right. Well, I see three possible scenarios—none of them good," she said, oblivious now to the glares of her audience. "The first? The villagers survive and defeat the undead without you. How do you think they are going to feel about the only dwarf in the village staying safe inside and not helping when they had to hack at the risen remains of their friends and family? I don't think the village will remain a very welcoming place for very long—and an angry mob will always beat three lone fighters, no matter what their skill."

Dwyn laughed in scorn at Elissa's warning. "Even if that did scare me—which it _doesn't_—it doesn't matter. Those clowns will be dead by morning."

Elissa's eyes widened. "You think it's funny that the best-case scenario is the least likely?"

The thugs shifted nervously in place, casting dark looks at Elissa. "Alright, I'll bite," Dwyn said after a moment. "What's the worst-case scenario?"

"I have to tell you the second-worst scenario _first_," she said, shaking her head. "The thing about the undead . . . what they want—what they _crave_ is the flesh of the living."

She took a small step forward, but the thugs didn't react, too swept up in Elissa's shining eyes and awed tone to be suspicious.

"That's what drives them, and that's what will bring them back here tonight, and the night after tonight, assuming the villagers fail." She crossed her arms and squinted down at Dwyn. "How long do you think you'll last in here once they don't have any other living things to feed on? How long until you three join the number of the undead army?" She gave a coy look behind her. "And you with a broken door."

Tattoo Face made a strangled noise. "I'm not going to sit here and get turned into one of those _things_—"

"Shut up! She's just trying to scare us. She doesn't know anything." Still, Dwyn turned back to Elissa. He peered up at her out of the corner of his eye. "You said that was the second-worst scenario?"

Elissa's smile turned predatory. "Oh yes, _that_," she said, in an almost seductive tone. "See, no one really knows how much of the person who was left behind remains when your body is raised from the dead and possessed by a spirit." She cocked her head the side and peered up at the ceiling. "Most people tend to think of the undead as simply walking corpses, but I have to wonder: when the flesh is reanimated, what if some small part of the brain is too?" She leaned forward and whispered. "They say the undead are filled with the insatiable hunger for human flesh. I wonder if you'd feel that hunger too? How horrible would it be to be trapped inside that body, unable to control it, forced to experience it all?" Her smile fled as a new thought took hold. "Imagine tasting human flesh against your will." She gave a little shudder, and then seemed to recover, nodding at Dwyn with finality. "Well, anyway, you've made your decision and we should respect it."

She turned to go, but Dwyn called after her. "Tell Murdock . . . he'll have his dwarven fighter for the battle tonight." He squinted his eyes at her. "I better see _you _out in the square when those creatures come."

"Of course," she snapped, but Alistair didn't miss the flicker of fear that passed over her features at the dwarf's words.

* * *

"You know, we could have taken them."

They walked along the dirt path up to the rest of the village. "_You,_ maybe," Elissa snorted. "Me? I'd have been a stain on his floor in a matter of a few seconds."

"Nah, we'd have been _fine. _You could have handled Tattoo Face, I bet. Leliana says you're a quick learner with the blades." He looked over to see her reaction to the compliment, but she scowled at her feet instead of smiling or blushing like he'd expected. "What?"

She looked up at him as if surprised that he'd caught her frowning. She sighed and they came to a stop. "Why can't I just fight from range anyway? It's what I'm good at."

He gave a long sigh and looked down at her, gathering his thoughts. Clearly he had not made his case well in previous arguments. "I just think it'll be good for you—"

"—to get smashed in the face?" she finished for him, eyes wide and indignant. "Because that's what'll happen, you know."

He shook his head. How could he make his point if she never let him finish? "No, you don't know that. Look, you beat that alpha in the Wilds—"

"That was a fluke. An accident, at best," she insisted.

"Exactly!" he said, excitement making his voice loud. She looked at him in shock, clearly not expecting him to agree with her. Which he didn't, actually. "That's what you _think_. But _I_ don't think so. I think you have it in you to do it again any time you need to." He took a step closer to her. "I think you need to stick that family sword of yours into a darkspawn's guts again." He mimed the motion toward her, hand stopping a couple inches from her abdomen. "Just to prove to yourself that you can."

She frowned up at him, bringing her arms around her stomach where he'd "stabbed" her. "That's . . . well . . . that's . . . an interesting point."

He laughed, and then brought his hand up behind her head, and opened and closed it as if operating a puppet. "Yes, Alistair. You are right! That's totally logical!" he said, miming a high-pitched, feminine voice.

Her face scrunched up for a half second before a laugh burst out of her, and he felt a rush of warmth at the sound. Getting a laugh out of Elissa always felt like a bit of a triumph. She rolled her eyes at him, before turning to resume their walk. "Why are you always trying to make me laugh?" she said, after a beat, looking at him warily.

"You say that like I have some ulterior motive. Can't wanting to make a pretty girl laugh be reason enough?" She threw an uncertain glance at him, but then kept walking, training her gaze ahead of her. He stifled a sigh. He'd had just about as much success with his flirting as he had with his jokes. "Besides," he said after a few more moments of silence. "You could use a laugh."

"You think I'm too serious?" she said defensively, coming to a stop again.

Elissa's capacity for finding criticism where he meant none was truly astonishing. "No," he sighed. "That's not what I'm saying at all. Look, can I give you some advice?"

Her wary look turned even more suspicious. She stared at him silently for a few seconds before giving a pained sigh. "You wish for me to be less argumentative."

He gave a little snort of laughter. "You just really can't stand having to be _told_ something, can you? It's _killing _you that you don't already know what I'm going to say, isn't it?"

Her brow creased even further into concern. "You wish for me to stop knowing things before I should? Is that it?"

"Elissa,_ stop_," he said, and risked putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, clearly distressed that she hadn't yet identified the deficiency she was so sure he was going to point out. "What I _wish_ is for you to just . . . stop being so hard on yourself." He gave her shoulder a little squeeze before releasing it.

She froze. "Stop being so hard on myself?"

"Well, yeah," he said giving a little shrug. "Elissa . . . you've been a warden what? A little over a week? You're not sleeping well, you're _starving _all the time, on top of . . ." he trailed off, unsure how to reference the tragedy that brought her here. "On top of everything you've been through," he said quietly. "You should cut yourself some slack. Nobody expects you to have it all figured out. You're only human."

Her head bent lower and lower while he spoke, until he was left looking at the tightly woven braid that encircled the top of it. He waited for her to respond, but for several seconds she simply stood there, contemplating the toes of her boots.

Finally, she lifted her head and looked at him, and for the first time since finding her all alone, covered in blood in the Korcari Wilds, some wall that was usually up was just . . . gone. "I don't know what to think of you," she said in a breathy whisper.

He felt a blush creeping up his cheek as she stared at him with such obvious and sudden warmth. He felt it deepen when she took a step toward him and placed a hand on his arm, looking at him under those dark lashes of hers. "Alistair," she said. "I . . ."

"You'll never guess what I've discovered."

They both whirled at the voice, turning to see Leliana standing beside them, a wide smile plastered on her face. Elissa's expression immediately turned curious, and she took her hand off his arm and faced the other woman. "What? Did you speak with the blacksmith?"

Alistair bit down the flash of disappointment at the interruption and turned to face Leliana. The redhead gave a nod. "Owen has agreed to make the repairs for Murdock's men."

"Excellent! How'd you get him to agree to it?" Elissa asked.

Leliana hesitated a fraction of a second before saying breezily, "I promised him that we would see his daughter home alive from the castle."

Elissa gasped. "What? How could you promise something like that? We don't even know if anyone is alive in there!"

Alistair felt his gut churn at Elissa's words. He didn't want to think about that possibility.

"I have faith in you!" Leliana said, still smiling brightly. "I know you can do it."

Elissa shook her head, and then stilled, looking at Leliana shrewdly. "Why are you still smiling?"

Leliana's eyes seemed to glow. "Because, after you hear what I have to tell you next, you're going to forget all about being cross with me."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "That so?"

Leliana grinned. "Owen's daughter used to tell him that the arlessa was up to something—he believes some corruption in the castle is the cause of the attacks. She also told him that she thought the arlessa was having an affair with her son's tutor."

Alistair's eyes felt like they were bulging out. "Isolde? With Connor's tutor? _Maker's breath_ . . ."

Elissa shushed him. "What else?" she asked, clearly not impressed quite yet.

"After I heard this rumor I knew I had to find out more. So I took a visit to the local tavern. When I entered I noticed an elf sitting in the corner, by himself. At first, I didn't think he was important, but then I realized there was something _off _about his demeanor—I questioned him, and I was right! He was a spy, paid to keep watch on the castle."

Alistair's eyebrows shot up. "Paid for by whom?" Elissa asked.

Leliana produced a scroll from where she'd had it tucked into her vest. "Take a look at this."

Elissa paused, looking at the parchment in Leliana's hand a moment before snatching it away. She looked up at the ex-Chantry sister searchingly one more time, before tearing her gaze away and unfurling the scroll.

Her eyes scanned the paper and then she gasped. "This is the Arl of Amaranthine's seal." Her lips moved silently and rapidly as she read and reread the words on the paper. "This . . . this points to the Arl's involvement with Eamon's illness!"

Alistair let out a breath. "And where the Arl is involved, so is Loghain." Bodahn had informed them that Rendon Howe had managed to get himself elevated to the position of Arl of Denerim, and was rumored to be serving as Loghain's most trusted advisor. Elissa had refused to speak to anyone for almost an entire day after she'd heard that little rumor.

Now she looked almost manic with glee. "It's circumstantial, of course, it doesn't _prove_ anything, but it certainly points to foul play as the cause of Eamon's illness." She looked down at the ground in thought. "So Howe and Loghain tried to eliminate _two_ noble families as threats to his rule—"

"—and he tried to kill off one of the only persons to know of Alistair's birthright," Leliana added.

Elissa's head snapped up and she looked first at Leliana, and then Alistair, narrowing her eyes to stare at him searchingly for a few seconds, before finally turning back to Leliana. Her polite, but distant, mask was firmly back in place. "Can you please inform Murdock about the blacksmith?" she said, in a formal tone. "And also tell him that the dwarf will be joining us in the fight tonight."

Leliana shot Alistair a troubled glance, but when he could only shrug in return, she nodded at Elissa. "Of course," she said, before heading off in the direction of the Chantry.

Alistair watched her go, a feeling of dread building up inside him. He turned back to find Elissa glaring up at him.

"You _told_ Leliana?" she hissed at him the minute he faced her.

He closed his eyes a moment before opening them and shooting a steady expression at Elissa. "Yes, I did. Why?"

She gaped at him. "Why? Why on _earth_ would you do such a thing—"

Her indignation was too much for him, and his anger sparked to life. "How about because it's _my_ secret to tell," he hissed back, taking a step toward her. "At least _this_ time I actually had a choice in the matter!"

She seemed to recoil from his words. "You really _hate_ me knowing, don't you?"

"Of course I hate you knowing!" he erupted. The villagers nearby turned their heads to look at him, and he flushed at his loss of control. "If I had my way, none of you would know," he said, looking at his feet in disgust.

"Do you trust Leliana . . . more than me?" He had to be imagining the hurt tone in her voice, or so he thought, but she was staring at him, eyes twin pools of misery and her normally heart-shaped mouth pulled down into a sad little frown.

"What? No!" he said in horror. "I didn't mean _that_ . . . that's not it . . ." He gave a huge sigh of frustration. "Just . . . just let me explain." He took a deep breath, trying to think of the best way to explain himself so that she might understand. "The thing is, I'm used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew. So yeah, I . . . would prefer it if you hadn't figured it out, I guess."

"Why?" He brow crinkled in confusion.

He searched her face, wondering if he really wanted to admit all this to her. "It's just that anyone who's ever found out has treated me differently afterwards," he blurted out before he could change his mind. "I was the bastard prince instead of just being Alistair. I know that must sound stupid to you, but I . . . I guess I was just hoping that you would like me for who I am—not for who my father is."

Once the words were out he found himself holding his breath, wondering how she'd react to his confession.

She . . . _laughed—_a short, bark of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

He wasn't sure if the warm feeling overtaking him was more humiliation or anger—probably an equal and heady mixture of both. "That's . . . that's great. I'm glad I'm amusing you."

She took a deep breath and then looked up at him warmly again. "Alistair," she said. "It's just a little ironic."

His eyebrows screwed together in confusion. "What is?"

She gave another rueful laugh. "That I _do," _she said, and when he continued to stare at her blankly, she went on. "Like you for who you are, I mean," she added, smiling shyly up at him.

"Oh? I . . . oh," It wasn't until that moment that Alistair realized how unlikely he'd thought such a thing. But here she was . . . confirming it. "You see, I . . . didn't know that," he finished lamely.

She looked up at him with a much softer, more adoring expression than he'd ever seen her wear before. He found himself able to do little more than just stand there, basking in her gaze, until her smile faltered and finally turned into a frown.

"Well," she said at last. "Now you know." She gave a little cough and then turned back toward the village. "Go see what else Murdock wants," she called over her shoulder. "I'm going to go have a look at the general store. I . . . suddenly feel like lighting things on fire."

He stared after her for a good five seconds, wondering what exactly was so funny (or _ironic_) about his confession, and why she'd run off like that after telling him she liked him. With a shake of his head he headed back toward the Chantry, resigned with the fact that he'd likely never know what went on in the mind of Elissa Cousland.

* * *

_Author's note: This chapter was beta'd not once, but twice, by **Riptide Monzarc**, so many thanks for that! (This chapter went through about four? five? rewrites . . . but it's finally here). Thanks to everyone who is reading!_


	18. Know

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 18: Know_

_I feel like somebody I don't know  
__Are we really who we used to be  
__Am I really who I was_?  
—_Lucky Now_, Ryan Adams

"Fergus! You'll never believe it! The most _amazing_ thing has happened!" Elissa skidded to a halt in front of the giant desk in the study, where her brother reclined into a high-backed leather chair, looking at her with raised eyebrows. His gaze flicked to his right.

She frowned and cast her glance there, and with a start noticed that her brother wasn't alone. A handsome man with reddish brown hair stood off to her left. He was dressed in a fine burgundy waistcoat and the gold sleeves of his shirt appeared to be made of silk. He looked at her with piercing blue eyes under a brow that was creased ever-so-slightly.

Elissa's own eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, before she gathered herself up to stand properly in front of her elder sibling. "Do forgive me," she said, feeling her heartbeat in her throat. "I didn't realize you had company."

Fergus waved at the other man. "Elissa, you remember Bann Teagan, don't you?" He turned to the other man and shot him a smirk. "You'll have to forgive her. She's a bit of an eccentric—"

"_Fergus_! Don't tell him that!" she snapped, and then quickly looked at her skirt, smoothing it with her hand. "I'm no such thing," she finished after a moment, in a much softer tone.

Fergus gave an undignified snort. "Pardon me. Bann Teagan, allow me to present my completely ordinary, average, not-at-all exceptional sister, Lady Elissa Cousland."

"_I swear to the maker,_ mother dropped you on your head when you were a baby," Elissa hissed, before taking a deep breath and facing Bann Teagan.

The bann hesitated, mouth hanging open uncertainly, before he shook his head with a soft snort of a laugh that spoke of his familiarity with Fergus' particular sense of humor. Elissa remembered then that he was the youngest too. When he stepped forward she raised her hand automatically. He took it. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady," he said, brushing her fingers with his lips. He lowered her hand and smiled, and she couldn't help but notice the attractive way his eyes crinkled when he did.

She nodded and released his hand, shooting him a practiced smile. Before she could apologize her way out of the room Fergus spoke up. "So, do tell us this _amazing_ news of yours, dear sister."

She looked up, feeling her lips freeze into an unnatural smile. _Drat._ The news was literally the only thing on her mind—she could think of no plausible replacement. As she stood there faltering, Fergus' smile seemed to deepen, and his enjoyment at her discomfort was enough to make her roll her eyes and give a resigned sigh. Who cared if Bann Teagan thought she was crazy anyway? He was only a bann. "There's been a murder in Highever and no one knows who did it."

Fergus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Only you," he said, before opening his eyes and shooting Elissa a wry smile, "would describe murder as 'amazing.'"

* * *

A part of Elissa's mind marveled at how she had gone from listening in nervous silence at the council at Ostagar to orchestrating a battle plan and giving out commands to everyone in Redcliffe. What a difference a week made.

"Ser Perth and his knights will be stationed on this hill." She gestured to the map before looking up at Leliana, who was standing on the other side of the Revered Mother's desk. "Make sure he tells his men to be careful. That oil from the general store will prove useful in lighting the barricades, but fire doesn't discriminate. They should stay well back from it."

Leliana met her gaze briefly before looking down at the map and giving a quick nod. "I'll make sure he knows," she said demurely.

"You spoke with him already, right? Did his men need anything?"

Leliana looked up again, eyebrows rising slightly before she smoothed her expression into a serene one again. "Nothing that we could provide," she said simply.

Elissa frowned. Leliana had been acting cagey ever since their conversation earlier in the village. She bit back a sigh and brought her focus back to the map. She'd have to deal with Leliana later.

"I'll have Sten stay back here with the rest of the villagers." She pointed to the front of the Chantry where the most elaborate and bulky of the village's barricades was built. She looked to her left, where Bann Teagan stood, studying the plans while rubbing his chin with his hand. "You say the attacks always originate from the castle's main gate?"

Teagan nodded and gestured at the path from the castle to the village. "Each night they've come down this path to the village, and that's the same way they head back."

Elissa smiled. "They'll have some unpleasant surprises. I spent half the afternoon laying a collection of nasty traps for them." The ache in her lower back attested to the amount of time she'd spent hunched over her contraptions. She straightened and placed her hands on her lower back, stretching once again to try and work out the kinks she'd managed to acquire in one afternoon of hard labor. _Maker_, she was softer than practically everyone she traveled with.

"I'd give you an update on Owen's work, but from the looks of it you've already talked to him." Alistair smirked down at her from his spot to her right. "He does nice work for a drunk, doesn't he?"

Elissa glanced up at him and smiled before looking down at herself. Owen had crafted her new armor that actually _fit._ It was light and supple, and the leather tunic rested on her body like a soft blanket—a stark contrast to the too-large studded (and stiff) armor she'd been forced to wear since Ostagar. The tunic was sleeveless—only her cotton, blue-checkered shirt covered her arms, but Elissa preferred it this way. Her range of movement was better, and besides, the tunic actually had a reinforced collar that extended up her neck. She never liked how her old set left her throat and collarbone completely exposed.

And, if Elissa were being completely honest, she had to admit the new armor flattered her small figure. The tunic fit snugly and extended almost to her knees, where it fell to a point in both the front and the back. It was slit up the sides to allow more movement, and coupled with thigh-high riding boots and soft, thin leather gloves, the entire outfit left her feeling a bit less out of place. For the first time since this horrid adventure had begun she felt like she was wearing armor she belonged in.

"This is much nicer than what I had before," she admitted, before looking up to see three pairs of eyes trained on her. She blushed at their scrutiny. "Anyway, I think we're about as ready as we can be before tonight."

With that, everyone moved to go. Elissa held up her hand. "One more thing," she said, and they all turned back to look at her as one. She took a deep breath—she was still getting used to the fact that these people kept looking to _her_ to make the decisions and lead them. Not that she didn't agree she had the intelligence for such a thing, of course. She was just more used to strategically fading into the background. But she supposed those days were long since over.

She turned to the bann, peering up at him shrewdly. "These old castles, you know what they almost all have in common?" She didn't wait for him to answer, leaning forward and placing a hand on the desk. "_Secret _entrances."

She heard Leliana and Alistair stir at her accusing tone but she ignored them, keeping her gaze trained on Teagan.

For his part, the bann stared down at her evenly. "Elissa . . . even if I _did_ know of such a thing, what good would it do? We need help defending ourselves _tonight._ We need you and your friends here."

"The bann's right," Alistair said. "Besides, it's almost sundown and whatever it is that's causing this whole mess seems to only be active at night."

Elissa crossed her arms across her chest. "_Or_, night is the safest time to enter the castle, because all the undead will be attacking the village."

"Attacking the village that you swore to me you would help defend."

They all looked up at the fervor in Teagan's tone, but the man stared only at Elissa.

She held up her arms in appeasing gesture. "I am only fielding possibilities, my lord," she said smoothly. She looked at Alistair and Leliana. "What do you think?"

"I think Bann Teagan is right," Alistair said quickly, and Elissa had to quell the urge to snap _of course you do_ in response. "Going into the castle tonight sounds way too dangerous, and the militia needs our help."

"I agree," Leliana said softly. She didn't hold her gaze when Elissa glanced at her.

Elissa swallowed the frustrated sigh that threatened to escape her. _Pick your battles_. That had always been her mother's advice, and she supposed it applied here. She tried to shrug casually. "Very well! We stick to the original plan. And then, _tomorrow_, we enter the castle, presumably by the secret entrance."

The side of Teagan's mouth started to curl upward, but he shook his head. "We'll talk about that after the battle," he said. "Now, if that's all?" He didn't wait for her dismissal before moving toward the door.

Elissa bit her lip. "Actually, Bann Teagan, I was hoping we might have a chance to speak in private."

His brows knit together but he nodded. "Of course."

Leliana continued through the door, but Alistair hesitated, shooting a curious glance at Elissa. She gave a tight little smile and he nodded before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

She turned to face Teagan, who was now leaning against the Revered Mother's desk. "So it appears you're good at keeping _some_ secrets," she said, crossing her arms to her chest.

His eyebrows climbed his forehead a moment before he gave a bark of a laugh. "Leaving aside the accusatory tone, what secret am I meant to have kept now?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Please, we both know what I'm talking about. I'm not going to say it aloud. The walls may have ears and we've already found one spy in the village." She leaned in and whispered. "Did you really think I wouldn't figure it out? He looks just like Cailan."

"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "Elissa, we can talk about Alistair later—"

"I don't want to talk about Alistair."

He frowned down at her.

She took a step closer so that there were only a few inches between them. His eyes were closer to her level with the way he was leaning on the desk. "I want to look in your eyes, and I want you to tell me the truth," she whispered. "Did you tell anyone about me?"

* * *

"Well that was an enormous waste of time," Fergus snapped, slamming the carriage door shut. He pounded twice on the ceiling and with a lumbering shudder the carriage started moving, making its way back to the castle.

"Whatever do you mean, dear brother?" Elissa said innocently. "We investigated. Hopefully the local guard can apprehend the culprit."

She heard Fergus snort next to her and felt him turn toward her, but steadfastly kept her gaze on the window, staring with unseeing eyes at the snowy landscape as it went by.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me. You dragged us all the way down to the village to gape at a dead body, ask the widow a bunch of useless questions, and then you shrug and say it must've been a bandit? That's _bullshit_, and you know it. Nothing was even stolen from the home!"

She turned to look at him with wide eyes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Teagan sitting opposite them. He made no attempt to hide his bemused smile as he watched the two siblings bicker. "How should I know who killed that poor man?"

"Oh that is just rich." Fergus sat back with a sigh, and turned to face Teagan. The man raised his eyebrows in response. Fergus shrugged. "My sister would have you believe she's nothing but a craven gossip-monger, rather than reveal the truth."

Elissa's cheeks burned at Fergus' accusation, and she bit down on her lip hard to keep from snapping at him in response. He was just trying to rile her into revealing what she knew. But she had plans and she did not need her brother's pigheaded humor getting in the way. And besides, Bann Teagan didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Let him think what he wanted.

She shrugged a shoulder, feigning indifference. "Nothing ever happens in Highever. It was exciting."

Fergus narrowed his eyes at her, before a slow smile crept over his face. "Have it your way then, Pup," he said, turning to look out the window. "Sit there and pretend you don't care. But I know you're just _itching_ to explain the whole thing to us."

Elissa rolled her eyes and turned to resume looking out the window. Really, did Fergus think she had no self-control at all?

"I'm sorry," Teagan said with an apologetic cough. "But what exactly is it you're expecting your sister to explain?"

She looked at Teagan out of the corner of her eye. He was staring at them both with a sort of amused detachment. She pursed her lips, feeling temptation winding its way through her and weakening her resolve. But no—no matter how enjoyable it might be, she didn't need to wipe the serene look off Teagan's face.

Fergus gave out a snort. "She knows who the murderer is, and how he did it."

Teagan gave an answering snort of disbelief. "And how on earth would she know _that_?" he asked, an eyebrow shooting upward.

Elissa clenched her hand at her side and kept her gaze on the window. She could feel her brother's gaze on the back of her head but she ignored him. "She just does. And the kicker is she's dying to tell us it all. I bet she had it within two, maybe three minutes of walking through the door. Isn't that right, Elissa?"

_The two glasses on the side table._ That was what had done it, Elissa mused. She'd picked one up surreptitiously while everyone's attention had been drawn to the body lying on the floor. One was empty, though Elissa had thought it had been filled with some kind of stout ale. The other had smelled faintly of whiskey, but seemed to have a finger's worth of water at the bottom. That was the first clue . . .

Teagan shook his head. "They never even located the murder weapon. How could she possibly know all that?"

Fergus elbowed her in the arm, hard. "Ouch!" she snapped, twisting around to face her brother. "What was that for?"

Now that he'd finally gotten her to look at him, he lowered his chin and looked up at her. "You can trust Teagan. He won't say anything—he's good at keeping secrets."

Elissa raised an eyebrow. "You sound awfully sure of that," she said softly, glancing at Teagan. He was looking just a bit uncomfortable at her scrutiny. _So Fergus is speaking of something specific. Interesting. _She turned back to her brother. "Father wouldn't like it—"

"Father won't know anything," Fergus said, waving a hand dismissively. "What's said here won't leave this carriage."

Teagan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, what exactly are you two talking—"

"Fine," Elissa interrupted, and then leaned forward to stare intently at Teagan. "I'll tell you who killed that man, how and why, but neither of you breathe a word of this to anyone, understand?"

Teagan's eyes went wide and then the corner of his mouth curled up. "You're not serious—"

"Oh she is _always_ serious," Fergus interjected, slumping down in his seat with a self-satisfied smirk.

Elissa whirled to face him. "That goes for you too, Fergus. You cannot share what I tell you with anyone, nor can you act on that information as the acting Teyrn of Highever. Understand?" Fergus had been left in charge of the teyrn while Father and Mother were in Orlais.

Her brother frowned at her. "What about justice? You're not suggest we let a guilty person go free—"

"Those are my terms. Accept them or not," she said, before leaning back in her seat and resuming her indifferent examination of the countryside in the window.

* * *

Sea-green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing to peer down at her. "No, Elissa, I have not," he said firmly. "I gave you my word and I've kept it."

She frowned up at him, searching his face for the truth. He certainly seemed sincere. "I mean it, Teagan. I need to know if you told anyone . . . like your brother. _Especially_ your brother."

"No, Elissa, I haven't told a soul. I swear by the Maker." He gave an exasperated sigh. "What does it even matter? You're obviously not trying to hide anything anymore."

Elissa leaned back, regarding the bann thoughtfully. She could never rely on it fully, but her gut told her Teagan was telling the truth. And besides, the facts complied with what he was saying. "Because," she breathed out. "Someone told the Warden Commander about me. And the list of possible suspects is rather slim." She frowned up at him again. "So imagine my surprise when I heard he'd been in Redcliffe not three weeks ago. That struck me as a curious coincidence."

"But I only just returned—"

"I know." She gave a rueful shrug of her shoulder. "I . . . I know that now anyway. You weren't here. But you could've talked to Duncan in Denerim." She thought Alistair would've mentioned it, but it was an easy thing to confirm with him later. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I had to ask."

Teagan nodded slowly. "I can see how you'd think that, but I assure you, I've kept my word to you. If Eamon knows about you, it didn't come from me."

Elissa took a deep breath, feeling something in her chest give way at Teagan's sincerity. "Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You've got a good track record with secrets." She narrowed her eyes. "You even kept one from me."

A slow grin spread across his lips. "You don't hold that against me, I hope?"

She snorted indecorously. "How can I? Frankly, I'm impressed. It's a rare person who can keep anything at all from me. I suppose Fergus was right about you."

At the mention of Fergus, Teagan cleared his throat. "I was very sorry to hear that Fergus—" She stiffened and he hesitated, before continuing softly. "—has gone missing. I haven't given up all hope, however, and neither should you."

She shook her head roughly. "It doesn't matter," she said, more harshly than she meant to. She softened her expression, and tried again. "Thank you, my lord. But I can't really think about that right now." She surprised herself—both the crack in her voice and the confession were unintended. They had the desired effect, however.

"Of course," Teagan said smoothly, rising from where he'd been leaning against the desk. "If you'll—"

The door to the office burst open and Morrigan strode in, reeking of smoke and elfroot. "I've made all I can with what passed for ingredients around here," she said without preamble. "Including that warmth balm you requested." She crossed her arms and waited for Elissa's next command.

"Thank you, Bann Teagan," she said, nodding her goodbye. "We'll . . . pick this up again later, if it pleases you."

He smiled and nodded and she turned back to Morrigan and then gestured impatiently for her to exit so she could follow her out.

The made their way through the winding back halls of the Chantry to the sanctuary, where the villagers were now waiting fretfully for night to fall. They got to a corner of the wide hall and Morrigan knelt, retrieving a cloth satchel and shoving it roughly into Elissa's arms. She heard the tinkle of glass containers rattling together. "Careful!" she admonished, before shouldering the burden. "I take it you want me to deliver these vials to the knights, then?"

Morrigan shot her a look over her shoulder. "They'll need help applying it to their faces," she said, before pausing and shooting Elissa a snarl of a smile. "I think they might object to my touching them."

"Right, I'll handle it," she said with a sigh, and made her way out of the Chantry. As she raced down the stone steps leading into the practice yard she spotted Leliana, aiming an arrow at a target. She released the bowstring with a twang and the arrow struck the target's center. Elissa gave a soft whistle. "Nice shot," she said, coming to stand next to her with a smile.

Leliana didn't meet her gaze, but pulled another arrow from her quiver and notched it. "Did you need something else of me?" she asked coolly, pulling the bowstring back.

Elissa gave a frustrated groan. "Leliana, I'm sorry," she confessed in a rush, the tension between them suddenly too much for her to bear without comment. "I didn't want Alistair to tell you . . . . what he told you," she said, taking a step closer to Leliana and lowering her voice. "That information is extremely sensitive and dangerous if it falls on the wrong ears. You of all people should know that."

Leliana looked over at her uncertainly, still holding the bowstring back. "You don't trust me," she said quietly.

"No, I don't," she said, trying to ignore the way Leliana's face threatened to crumple at her words. "Look, you have to understand—trust doesn't come easily to me right now. I don't like talking about it, but I think . . . I think Alistair's given you the broad strokes of what happened to me, right?"

Leliana turned fully to her and lowered the bow, finally. "Not really," she said. "All he said was that you came to the wardens through tragedy, but that he didn't feel it was his place to tell your story."

Elissa blinked at Leliana, surprised at the sudden prickling in her eyes. She felt a rush of gratitude that Alistair had protected her privacy. "That's . . . well, that's kind of him," she stammered. "But the truth is . . . I . . . _we_ were betrayed. By someone we thought was an old family friend."

"Arl Howe." Elissa could only nod in response, staring down at the ground. "I understand," Leliana said after a moment. "More than you realize."

Elissa's head snapped up at the confession, and she saw something unrecognizable in Leliana's gaze for a few seconds, before it was gone and replaced with a sad little smile. "That's . . . that's good then. I'm sorry . . . No hard feelings?"

Leliana started to shake her head but then stopped and looked at Elissa out of the corner of her eye. "So, you didn't tell Alistair about me? About my past?"

Elissa blinked at her, a bit taken aback. "Of course not!" Leliana's eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, just because I can sniff out secrets doesn't mean I blab them to others." She leaned forward. "Your secrets are your own to tell, Leliana, not mine. I'm one of the few people you'll ever meet that is actually good at keeping them, so you're lucky."

Leliana's eyebrows shot upward. "I . . . thank you," she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face before a sudden frown appeared. "I will tell him when the time is right."

Elissa pursed her lips. "Are you sure about that?" At Leliana's curious look she shrugged. She wasn't sure how Alistair would handle Leliana's past, but she knew their little group didn't need any more conflict than it already had.

Leliana bit her lip and looked off in the distance thoughtfully. "I . . . I think so," she said after a moment.

Elissa reached out to put her hand on Leliana's shoulder. "It's up to you, but think carefully. Once you tell there's no undoing that, you know?" She gave Leliana's shoulder a squeeze. "Sometimes people are better off not knowing," she finished quietly.

* * *

"Alright, so," Elissa began, feeling like her blood was singing in her veins. Maker, did she love this part. "Remind us all of what the widow claimed." She looked expectantly at Teagan.

The bann shot an uncertain glance at Fergus, who waved a hand encouragingly. "Go on, indulge her. Goes faster that way."

Teagan shook his head and gave himself a little smile. "Right. So, according to the widow, her husband came home every day from guard duty around five o'clock. They sat and had a drink together*, like they always did, and then her husband said he was too tired to head to the Inn for the evening meal. So, the wife got dinner started instead, and popped over to her neighbor's house to borrow some vegetables. When she came back, her husband lay dead in the middle of the living room, having apparently been bludgeoned to death by a large club or mace. The widow ran back next door and shouted at the neighbor to get the town guard." He sat back and looked at Elissa curiously. "The guardsmen searched the home and surrounding yard, but found no evidence of forced entry or stolen items, and the murder weapon is still missing. Does that cover it?"

Elissa nodded briskly. "It does, though I know exactly where the murder weapon is." She ignored the way Teagan's eyebrows rose at that. "Tell me, do you believe her?"

Teagan shrugged his shoulders. "Everything certainly appeared to match her story. There was a leg of lamb roasting over the kitchen's cook fire, and the neighbors confirmed that she did in fact stop by. They said she appeared perfectly calm and happy." He narrowed his eyes at Elissa. "You're not suggesting she had something to do with it are you?" Elissa raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Teagan's eye's widened. "The woman is heavy with child. Why would she murder her own husband?"

It was Elissa's turn to shrug. "I imagine it had something to do with whatever bad news the husband delivered when he got home."

Teagan's eyes grew even wider, and his mouth fell open. "Wait . . . you're saying it _was_ the widow? But why? And how? The guards still haven't found the murder weapon!"

"Yes, they have. In fact I'm willing to bet that it's right under their noses as we speak." She shook her head. She couldn't help but be impressed with the ingenuity of the murderess.

Both men leaned forward in their seats. "Don't keep us in suspense, sister! Tell us what happened," Fergus said.

"Well, you've heard most of it already. Almost everything the widow told you was true—save for a few important details that she left out." She looked in turn at both Fergus and Teagan. "The glasses on the table—did either of you notice them?" At their blank looks she went on. "Well, I did. At first blush they'd appear to corroborate the woman's tale, but on closer examination they really do tell the whole story."

Teagan leaned even farther forward. "What story? What do they tell?"

Fergus snorted a laugh. "Oh don't encourage her! She's drawing it out on purpose. Come on, Elissa, cut to the chase."

She rolled her eyes and then faced Teagan, a smile spreading over her lips. "I noticed it right away. Both glasses smelled of alcohol, but one had a finger's worth of water in it, while the other was empty. Why do you think that is?"

Teagan frowned at her a moment, before his eyebrows shot up. "He was drinking whiskey on the rocks? And the ice melted?"

"_Indeed_. Precisely that—a good Ferelden custom, drinking liquor on ice. Only in a country where it's winter six months out of the year. . . " She shook her head softly and laughed, before leaning forward. "And this man, coming home from work on a day like any other day, knocks back his whiskey fast enough that the ice is left to melt in his glass. Sounds like someone getting a little liquid courage before laying a horrible truth on his wife, don't you think?"

Teagan and Fergus shared a look. "What else?" Fergus urged her on, and she could see by the way his eyes were shining that he had full confidence in her deduction. It filled her with sudden warmth, and she found herself mentally forgiving him for all his teasing and goading. Deep down, she knew the reason he did it was because he was proud of her and her abilities, and felt she took too little credit for them. "Did you happen to notice the way the lady kept gagging?" She mimed how the woman had heaved, bringing a hand to her mouth. At their stunned looks she blushed, wondering if her impression had been a bit too realistic. "Well, did you?"

Fergus shrugged. "She's with child."

"Precisely!" she said, clapping her hands in excitement. "Oriana was the same way with Oren . . . couldn't handle the smell of cooked flesh, right up until the day he was born." She shook her head. "And yet, in spite of this she throws a leg of lamb in the stew pot." She leaned forward. "I checked out back. Someone went to the icehouse quite recently." They stared at her blankly. "To fetch a _frozen_ leg of lamb," she said, pausing significantly before going on. "Imagine its size and weight . . ."

"She killed him with the leg of lamb?" Teagan said breathlessly, and then he and Fergus fell silent, regarding each other for a few moments.

Finally, Fergus let out a soft whistle. "That would be like hitting him over the head with a war hammer."

Teagan blinked at him. "Wait, so you're saying the wife went out back, grabbed a frozen leg of lamb, whacked her husband over the head with it, and then calmly headed over to the neighbor's to borrow some vegetables?"

"No!" When they both looked at her she sat back with a smug smile. "She finished her drink first."

The two men stared each other in silence again. "Holy shit," Fergus said. Then, he turned to Elissa with wide eyes. "And you want to just let her get away with it?"

Elissa shrugged her shoulder and leaned back. "Whatever he had to tell her must have been awful. Imagine. _I'm leaving you for another woman._ Or maybe he found out the child wasn't his. Who knows?" She looked out the window. "Sounds like he had it coming."

Fergus gave a snort of disbelief. "You can't be serious. Even if he came home and told her something like that, it doesn't justify _murdering_ him!"

"Of course it doesn't!" she snapped, irritated at the breathless shock in her brother's voice. "But what about the babe in the woman's belly? What does he deserve? To grow up knowing that his mother killed his father? And he'd be an orphan, too. They'd keep her alive just long enough to see the child born, and then they'd hang her, and he'd be just another mouth to feed in the chantry." She crossed her arms to her chest. "The kid's better off not knowing the truth. Some things people just shouldn't learn."

Neither man had a ready response to her diatribe, so she resumed her examination of the countryside out of the carriage window.

After a moment Fergus finally gave a soft snort. "I don't know about this," he said quietly. "Feels a little bit like playing the Maker."

Elissa gave her head a slight shake. "A lot of people with less sense than me play at being the maker every day." She shrugged. "Why not someone as smart as me?" She shot her brother a grin, but he just continued to stare at her doubtfully. Her grin quickly vanished, replaced with a scowl. "And yet you'll keep your promise just the same," she snapped.

He stared at her for a few more seconds before giving a resigned shrug of his shoulders. "I gave you my word. Nothing'll happen to the widow."

"Good," she said, leaning back in her seat once again. "Besides," she said coyly, sneaking a glance at Bann Teagan. "The murder weapon's probably being eaten right now anyway."

Teagan's eyes widened but a snort of a laugh escaped him. She resumed staring out the window, her own lips twisting into a little smile for herself.

* * *

The waiting had been the hardest part of executing Elissa's battle plan. In every other skirmish so far, she'd been thrust into combat unexpectedly, with no time to contemplate her imminent danger. But waiting for a battle that she knew was coming frayed what was left of her nerves. She almost had convinced herself that she'd forgotten all of her training when Alistair stopped by to chuckle at her nervousness and explain that what she was going through was perfectly normal.

She still felt a little unsteady ex-Templar's presence. Ever since she'd declared her regard for him and he'd most conspicuously not offered a reciprocal declaration, she wasn't quite sure where she stood. Still, she accepted his reassurances for the kindness they were likely meant as, and before she knew it, she was chuckling along at something or other that Alistair had said, when a shout rang out from behind them.

She watched with eyes widening in horror as an orange-white glow quickly spread out from the castle's main gates, traveling down the bridge at a rapid pace. Elissa had pictured lumbering shuffling creatures—not this fast moving horde. It would take only seconds to see how well her traps would work.

The path from the castle consisted mostly of caltrop and claw traps. Not really meant to kill, they were merely placed there to thin the herd and slow them down. They worked about as well as she could have expected.

She waited with her heart in her throat for the horde to hit the first of her may grease traps. These were the most important, and should prove to be the most lethal. They were also the most worrisome. She hadn't had the time or resources to do much testing, and she had no idea how far out the blast radius of the grease would be. She had spoken often and loudly about the need for Redcliffe's knights and the other assembled fighters to stay well back from the crest of the hill, and not to charge in at the first sight of the enemy. She thought they understood, but it still made her very nervous when the first corpse—covered in a highly flammable mixture of lamp oil and grease, got too close to the flaming barricade.

With a whoosh, the corpse lit up, and soon all the walking dead around it were glowing bright with flickering flames. A cheer went up from the surrounding men at the success of the traps and the sight of the enemy in flames.

It was the cheer that did it, Elissa realized after the fact. Several knights surged forward in its wake.

"Stop!" Elissa positively screeched out, panic making her throat feel tight. The wind seemed to take her voice, and she risked taking two steps to bellow out as loud as her lungs would allow, "Soldiers, HALT!"

Finally, two of the figures halted and looked back uncertainly as she frantically waved them back. "There are more grease traps rigged up there! Get back here!"

But the third soldier never heard her, or if he did, he was too taken by battle rage to listen. He continued forward, as did the flaming fore guard of the undead army.

Time seemed to grind to a halt. Feeling as if she were swimming under water, Elissa turned to flee back down the hill.

Her back was turned, so she would never know if it was the knight or one of the walking dead that hit the second grease trap, but her spine tingled in horror when she heard the knight's high pitched scream as he was engulfed in a violent whoosh of flames. The heat at Elissa's back was so intense she worried that her hair had caught on fire. She rolled to a stop before she was able to stand up and look around.

The undead _burned_. Their flaming husks mostly stumbled around in a firestorm at the top of the hill, before falling in heaps. Those that managed to continue down the hill were quickly cut down by archers, Elissa's frantic urging keeping all the melee fighters well back while the grease fire burned.

She had no real idea of how long the fight lasted. But when it was over, the acrid smoke felt thick in her lungs.

Morrigan cast a blast of ice at the top of the hill, putting out the last embers of the smoldering fire. A figure lie still their feet.

Elissa knelt down to examine the blackened body. To her surprise the man's chest rose and fell. With a gasp, she reached for a potion from the satchel she wore at her hip. Before she could reach inside, a hand clasped tightly at her wrist. She looked up in surprise, finding Morrigan's angry yellow-eyed gaze upon her.

"He is beyond our healing ability, Elissa. Keeping him alive is not a kindness." She released Elissa's wrist and pressed a small silver dagger into her hand. "I will do it if you cannot," she finished, and Elissa was surprised at the tone the witch used. She sounded almost . . . sympathetic.

_Maker have mercy._ She turned toward the still-smoking man and realized that Morrigan was right. It would take many, many of their potions just to keep this man alive, and the risk of infection with the kind of burns the man had suffered meant that he would continue to need alchemical aid to survive. It was . . . it would cost too much to keep him alive, and even if he were to live, he'd be horribly disfigured.

Elissa took a deep breath, almost heaving at the smell that assaulted her. She swallowed down the bile and gripped the dagger in her right hand. Realizing that every second she delayed meant a second longer the man spent in terrible agony, she drew the dagger swiftly over the throat of the sputtering knight in front of her. In a matter of heartbeats the man's breathing stopped, and the pool of blood under him widened.

She sat there watching the blood spill out a few seconds, before taking another stuttering breath and getting to her feet. As she did, her eyes met Morrigan's. For the first time since she had met the swamp witch she saw something like approval in her somber expression.

"The monsters are attacking from the lake! They're attacking the barricades! We need help!" A soldier shouted as he ran up the steep path that led to the village.

_A lot of people with less sense than me . . . _ Elissa shook her head roughly to clear it of her memories. This self-doubt was useless _. . . _she had done what she had to do.

Still, she couldn't help gagging at the smell of burnt flesh that seemed to permeate the entire village. She stifled her heaving and ran after Morrigan and the others to the chantry, desperate to get away from the burning corpses that littered the top of the hill.

* * *

*_Disclaimer-Pregnant women should not drink alcohol, obviously, but I'm assuming the practice wasn't as frowned upon as it is today. (Hey, I heard in 2008 from an Irish waitress that a half a pint of Guiness was good for the baby...so even today there are some strange ideas out there :)) Besides, that little detail came straight from a wonderful short story, _Lamb for the Slaughter _by Roald Dahl, and that was the inspiration for this little murder mystery of Elissa's. I'll hope readers will forgive me for borrowing from it so liberally for these little flashbacks, but I kept thinking of that story and wondering what Elissa would make of it. Thanks again for reading, and thanks especially to **Riptide Monzarc **for giving this beast a look-see as it was being hobbled together. Thanks again!_


	19. Heal

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 19: Heal_

_All your acting  
__Your thin disguise  
__All your perfectly delivered lines  
__They don't fool me  
_—_Dust to Dust, the Civil Wars__  
_

"That's _all_?" Morrigan's incredulous question seemed to startle the red-haired tavern wench.

They were standing in the Chantry, surrounded by casualties. The sanctuary had been turned into a battlefield hospital with the injured lying on cots that lined both sides of the wide hall, leaving only a narrow aisle down the middle for walking.

The villagers had been lucky: they'd lost only a few townsfolk, and it appeared the undead threat was over, at least for the night.

"W-w-well there were a lot of burns," the girl said, shrugging a shoulder and looking up at Morrigan with big, doe eyes. She held a tray laden with the last of Redcliffe's poultice supply.

Morrigan had spent almost all afternoon gathering as much elfroot as she could find within the town's limits, and then the rest of it was spent creating dozens of poultices. She'd made enough for each fighter, plus extra to have on hand afterwards just in case.

Two large wine-red bottles sat upon the tray, surrounded by seven or eight of the smaller vials.

"_Ten_ poultices? I made dozens!" Morrigan huffed out a sigh. In spite of Elissa's repeated warnings, many of the villagers had managed to light themselves on fire in the chaos of the battle. If it were up to her, she'd have let them suffer for their foolishness, but Elissa had insisted that they try to save as many people as possible. Still, that didn't mean she had to _like_ it. "Your fellow townsfolk are a stupid, pathetic lot."

The girl just blinked at her. "Well, they don't know any better," she offered, still holding the tray of healing poultices awkwardly in front of her. "Most of them have never even picked up a sword—"

"Yes, yes," Morrigan said, waving a dismissive hand. There was no sense lamenting their situation. Now she could only make do with what they had. "Let's assess the casualties and hope what we have is enough."

"Begging your pardon," the girl said meekly, before Morrigan could turn to go. She glared down at the tavern wench expectantly. ". . . but I already did that. There are four broken bones and half a dozen severe burns. The two critical cases are a stab wound to the abdomen and of course, the poor Mayor—"

"The amputee, yes," Morrigan said, nodding thoughtfully. "He won't live through the night without alchemical aid." She peered down at the girl holding the poultices with new eyes, moderately impressed at her helpfulness. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Bella," she said, managing to bend into a little curtsey while still holding the tray. "And you're Morrigan, right?" She gave the witch a hopeful smile, before looking around furtively and then leaning forward to whisper, "They say you're a Witch-of-the-Wilds."

Morrigan rolled her eyes again. "_They_ say a lot of things," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "'Tis hardly a relevant topic now."

"Of course," the wench said, immediately contrite. She bowed her head and Morrigan felt a surge of relief that the conversation was at its apparent end. But Bella looked up at her after only a moment. "Just curious, can't we divide up the bigger ones and spread them around?"

Morrigan shook her head. "'Tis not like making a _soup_. 'Twould be a waste of ingredients." She pointed at one of the larger bottles. "These are most effective when taken all at once."

"Oh," Bella said, face turning a bit pink. "I . . . didn't know that."

Morrigan scowled down at her. "Of course you didn't. Why would you?"

"Right," the other woman said, shaking her head roughly. "Anyway, I think we have just enough to treat the most life threatening cases. The others will have to make do until morning."

"Fine," Morrigan said, nodding crisply. "Deliver your poultices then. Do report back if anyone is feverish or unconscious, but otherwise, leave me alone."

"R-r-right," Bella stammered, before finally turning and leaving Morrigan in peace. She took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, the noises of so many people crammed in one place suddenly assaulting her ears. _How can they stand it? Living on top of each other like this?_ With a curl of her lip she turned toward the front of the Chantry, intent on escape.

Just then the doors banged open, and three figures limped their way inside, with a fourth scrambling after them. When they stepped into the lamplight, she saw Alistair and Leliana, supporting Elissa between them. With a start she noticed an arrow jutting out of Elissa's chest, just below her left breast.

Morrigan's mouth fell open. "You got shot? _Again?_"

"It's not her fault!" Alistair's voice sounded high-pitched and frantic. They took another step forward and Elissa groaned.

"I'm so terribly, terribly sorry!" The man behind the trio came after them, wringing his hand. "I saw her come down the hill and I thought it was more of them! I didn't mean it! I'm so sorry!"

"It's alright, Tomas," Elissa said through gritted teeth. "It's fine."

"'Tis absolutely _not_ fine!" Morrigan snapped, and Tomas visibly blanched. "You shot one of the only remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden, you _idiot—_"

"Morrigan!" Alistair practically yelled. "Lay off of him would you? And help Elissa!"

She glared a second longer at the archer from the bridge, who was blubbering in near tears now, before turning back to Elissa. Ignoring the others she bent over to inspect the wound. "'Tis fortunate you had sense enough not to remove the arrow." She straightened and looked Alistair in the eye. "That might've killed her." The Templar paled, but Elissa gave a soft snort.

"I'm not an . . . idiot," she said through labored breaths. "But you've got . . . to get the arrow . . . out."

Morrigan raised a hand in front of Elissa's face. "Stop talking," she ordered, and then spun on her heel and stalked over to the closest cot. "You!" She pointed at the man lying there. He had a bandage wrapped around his head and his arm was in a sling. "Move!"

A woman with mousy brown hair in ragged braids wailed from the other side of the makeshift bed. "He can't move! His head's all banged up and you all told him to lie still!"

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the woman. "I said, _move_. The Grey Warden needs this bed—"

"Morrigan, _stop_," Elissa said in a weak voice. "Just do it on the floor."

Morrigan whirled in time to see Leliana and Alistair start to lower Elissa to the ground, with the noblewoman hissing in pain with each inch.

"Careful!" Morrigan admonished as she stalked back over, shaking her head at the stupidity she was forced to tolerate. She had been about ready to turn over the bed and drop the man to the floor.

Instead she watched as Leliana tenderly placed a hand behind Elissa's head and lowered it gently the rest of the way to the ground. Elissa moaned in pain and winced her eyes shut.

Alistair looked up at her with a pale face when she swatted him on the shoulder. She waved her hand impatiently. "Move!" she said again, and he scrambled off so that Morrigan could kneel down beside Elissa's right side. Leliana sat back on her haunches and held one of Elissa's hands in her own, while Alistair paced fretfully behind her.

"Friendly fire," he muttered, sounding a touch manic. "That's a terrible name for it. . . "

The noblewoman opened her eyes. Morrigan was relieved to see awareness in the woman's gaze. Elissa ignored the Chantry sister and the ex-Templar, staring only at the witch. She spoke painfully slow. "You have to get . . . the arrow . . . out."

"Stop talking," Morrigan snapped yet again. Leliana's head jerked up but before the Chantry sister could deliver her admonishment Morrigan raised a hand and said with a touch more gentleness, "I know what must be done." She glared at Leliana a few seconds until the other woman sat back on her haunches and dropped her gaze. Morrigan turned back to Elissa. "Keep quiet and trust me. This isn't the first time I've plucked an arrow out of you."

Elissa stared at her a few seconds before giving a little nod.

Morrigan drew the silver dagger out of her pocket and sliced through Elissa's tunic. The warden made a hum of disappointment but kept her mouth shut when Morrigan glared pointedly at her. She sliced through Elissa's shirt to expose the wound.

The leather had done its job—it hadn't stopped the arrow, of course, but it had slowed it down a bit. Truthfully Morrigan would have preferred the arrow to sail cleanly through the body and out the other side—if it managed to avoid any organs that was the optimum way for an arrow to leave the body. But, the leather had prevented that, and instead the arrow was embedded about four or five inches beneath the skin.

The question was did the arrow hit tissue, bone, or an internal organ? Elissa's breathing was labored, but her lips hadn't turned blue and she wasn't coughing up blood. If she was lucky, she'd suffered a fractured rib and no other internal organ damage. If Morrigan could manage to remove the arrow Elissa's chances at survival should be quite good.

But that was the big _if_. Morrigan had never mastered a single creation spell, but she knew a thing or two about arrow wounds. She knew that the most dangerous part of treating the wound was getting the arrow head out. Yanking the arrow out by the shaft would likely leave the metal tip behind, which could pierce her diaphragm and would most certainly lead to a life-threatening infection.

Fortunately she had experience doing just such a thing—about five times before, actually, and all from the same person's chest. Of course, Elissa had been comatose at the time and she'd had Flemeth's healing abilities helping to control the bleeding.

"Grab her arm," she said, motioning to Leliana. She turned around to see Alistair lurking behind her. "You get the other one."

She moved so that she was straddling Elissa as Alistair and Leliana moved into place to comply with her orders. Unwinding a belt from around her waist, Morrigan gave Elissa a significant look. "This will be painful. Quite painful. Here. Bite down on this."

Elissa's brows knit together but she dutifully opened her mouth and let Morrigan place her leather belt inside it before biting down. Her eyes looked up to the ceiling.

With a flick of her wrist she heated her silver dagger to a fiery orange, before another gesture cooled it instantly. Satisfied that it was cleansed, she took a deep breath and placed a hand on Elissa's rib cage. She gave both Leliana and Alistair pointed looks before making a small incision near the entrance wound.

She felt Elissa tense up underneath her but otherwise the warden remained still and didn't make a noise. She knew that wouldn't last.

She set the dagger aside and then, after taking one steadying breath, she started sliding her index finger down the wound in Elissa's side alongside the shaft of the arrow.

Elissa screamed around the leather strap in her mouth, the barrier making the sound strangled and animalistic. The woman would have bucked her off, but Morrigan had at least twenty pounds on her, and Alistair and Leliana did an admirable job of holding her arms and shoulders down. Morrigan ignored the thrashing noblewoman, and kept her eyes trained to a point in the distance, using only her sense of touch to locate the arrow head and determine its orientation.

Her finger was buried in the wound almost up to the knuckle when she finally felt the metal edge of the arrowhead. Elissa's screaming intensified as she pushed deeper into the wound, attempting to determine if the head was embedded in bone or tissue. She ran the pad of her forefinger along the triangular slope of the arrowhead as far as she could go without cutting a deeper incision. Tentatively and slowly, she attempted to curl her finger back toward the surface of the wound.

Elissa finally went still, having apparently passed out from the pain. "What are you _doing_ to her?" Alistair's voice sounded fearful and ragged.

She didn't bother to answer. The arrowhead moved easily, and with a rush of relief Morrigan steadied her other hand around the shaft of the arrow. She swallowed, finding her throat unexpectedly dry, and managed to gently pull the shaft out of the wound, ensuring that the arrowhead stayed in place by steadying it with her other finger.

With one last gentle tug the arrow shaft and head cleared the wound, and Morrigan let out the breath that she'd been holding. Blood flowed freely from the wound. Morrigan tossed the arrow aside and held a hand to the woman's side. "Bandages, now!"

In an instant, Bella was at her side, fresh clean bandages at the ready, as if she'd been waiting there for the order. Morrigan supposed she might've been, but she'd been too focused on her patient to notice. "Thank you," she said, climbing off of Elissa and pressing the bandages to her side. "Now, hand me one of the large health poultices."

She held out her other hand expectantly, but after a few seconds she looked up quizzically at the other woman. Bella stood wringing her empty hands. "You . . . you said to deliver them."

She stared up at Bela uncomprehendingly before the girl's meaning finally hit her. "Go out and find one that hasn't been finished yet, and bring it back here." The large potions were hard to quaff all in one go. If the wench hurried, she might be able to wrestle one away from another patient. At Bela's widened eyes she added, "now!"

She felt a weak grip on her wrist. "Morrigan . . ."

She whirled back to see Elissa's eyes had cracked open. "You're awake. That's . . . something. Now, stop speaking, and conserve your strength."

She started to rise, but Elissa's hand tightened slightly around her wrist. "Morrigan," she repeated. "Don't."

Alistair brushed his fingers across Elissa's forehead, removing some stray hairs from her eyes. "Shh, Elissa. Save your strength—"

Elissa closed her eyes and gave her head a tiny shake. Even that small movement seemed to tax her, and Morrigan was about to admonish her again when her eyes opened and she said more forcefully, "I won't take a potion meant for someone else."

Morrigan scowled down at the other woman incredulously. "Yes, you _will_, if you care at all for saving your own stupid, stubborn hide. Now be quiet and let me handle this."

Elissa still didn't release Morrigan's wrist. Leliana placed a gentle hand on Elissa's, pulling her hand away and freeing Morrigan. "Elissa," she said. "Listen to Morrigan. You need healing—"

Elissa coughed, and then winced at the pain it caused her. She shook her head again. "If I take a potion away from someone else, they might not survive . . ."

Alistair and Leliana shared a troubled glance over Elissa's head, but Morrigan scoffed. "So? Your life is much more important—"

"It is not!" Elissa hissed, lifting herself up by her right elbow. The movement triggered a coughing fit, and she was forced to lie back down, bringing her right hand up to her mouth to cover it as she did. When she took her hand away, there were flecks of blood on her leather glove. Elissa's eyes widened when she saw them, and she tried to move her hand away surreptitiously.

Morrigan grabbed it and pointed at a speck of blood. "See that? You're bleeding internally, and you've lost a lot of blood, too. If you don't get a healing potion I can't guarantee you'll survive through the night!"

"Elissa," Alistair said in a low voice. "Maybe . . . maybe Morrigan is right."

Elissa shook her head again. "I won't save my life at the cost of someone else's," she said, gasping for breath. "I won't. You can't ask me to do that_." _ Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at Alistair. "_Please_."

Alistair's face was wan as he looked first at Elissa and then Morrigan. It was clear from his troubled gaze the fool had no idea what to do. "Can't you . . . I don't know . . . make more potions?" he looked up at Morrigan with a pleading expression.

She fought the urge to smack the stupid Templar. "No! Don't you think we would if we could? We've exhausted my ingredient supply saving the pitiable lives of these fools!" Several heads turned in her direction at her outburst but she ignored them. "This argument is a waste of time!"

She got to her feet and whirled around, almost running into Bella, who was hovering behind her.

The tavern wench looked up apologetically. "Pardon me, but . . . if we need more healing poultices, I know of one place that may have them." She paused, but when Morrigan only glowered at her menacingly she quickly went on. "Lloyd! At the tavern. He always has a few potions on hand—maybe even some elfroot."

"At the tavern?" Morrigan looked around the Chantry sanctuary. "He's still there?"

Bella nodded. "He locks himself in the cellar each night and waits out the fighting." She gave a disgusted snort. "He's a greasy pig, and a coward, but I'm sure he's still alive and has some items in stock."

Leliana joined Morrigan while Bella was speaking. "Then we must go to him and persuade him to help!"

Bella smirked. "Bring some coin with you. He'll be sure to charge extra knowing we need them so badly." Morrigan's lip curled in derision and Bella shrugged. "He's a coward, but he's a greedy coward."

Morrigan turned to Leliana. "Get Elissa in a bed and bandage her up the best you can. I'll go see this Lloyd and . . . _persuade_ him to provide his supplies."

Leliana nodded at the witch. "Hurry, Morrigan," she said, glancing down at Elissa with a face full of worry.

She turned on her heel to go, but a hand placed on her shoulder made her whirl around. It was Bella, yet again, hovering near her elbow. "What is it _now_?"

"I'll come with you." She held up a hand as Morrigan started to protest. "I've got a spare key to the cellar and besides, I wouldn't miss this for the world," she finished with a far too cheery grin.

Morrigan stared down at Bella for a few seconds before shrugging her shoulder. "Let us be off then," she said, turning on her heel and racing for the Chantry doors.

* * *

"I think it's kind of sweet how worried you are about your friend."

Morrigan supposed the blessed silence between them as they walked to the tavern was too good to last. "I am _not_ worried," she said with a frown. "And she is not my friend."

"Oh . . . I . . . didn't realize—"

"She is one of the only two remaining Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden. If she dies, and we're left with that _fool_ for a leader . . ." She raised an eyebrow and looked down pointedly at Bella, who was at least a head shorter than her. "Then the Blight will surely encompass us all and we will all _die._"

Bella's eyes went wide. "Oh," was thankfully all she said.

That apparently quelled whatever urge Bella had to speak, so they made their way to the tavern in more silence, much to Morrigan's delight. It gave her time to contemplate what she'd said. It was true—if Elissa died, they'd likely all be doomed. She frowned as she imagined trying to soldier on with _Alistair_ of all people, leading their band of misfit outcasts. It was an entirely unpleasant scenario to contemplate.

"Of course, Elissa is the only one in that whole party with any sort of sense," she mused aloud, almost forgetting that Bella was alongside her. "The girl _is_ uncommonly bright." She gave a deep sigh and shook her head. "If only her head wasn't filled with such foolish sentimental notions, she might survive long enough to end the Blight."

"Well, I think it's kind of brave, actually. And noble—"

"Noble?" In spite of their hurry, Morrigan stopped in her tracks to stare down at the waitress with raised eyebrows. "You think self-sacrifice is _noble_? I doubt you'll be singing that tune when the darkspawn overtake Redcliffe and destroy everything around you. How is it noble for her to die here and leave the rest of Ferelden to burn?" Bella could only give a small shrug and Morrigan shook her head in disgust. "Foolish, sentimental thinking like that is dangerous and stupid."

If Morrigan had her way, she would disabuse Elissa of all such notions.

She admired Elissa's mind, it was true. When the girl wasn't under the sway of her emotions, she could be quite cold and practical. The problem was that Elissa was much more tenderhearted than most of her companions could see or gave her credit for. She hid it under a veneer of rationality and logic, but it didn't fool Morrigan. She knew that in spite of Elissa's claims the girl was affected unduly by her empathy for the suffering of others. It was something about the warden she loathed, but she also knew Alistair's influence only made it worse.

Bella didn't say anything so she resumed walking up the steep hill that led to Redcliffe's tavern. Finally, they reached the slanted doors that led down below the building and into the cellar.

The waitress bent over and knocked sharply on the wood several times. "Lloyd! Lloyd, open up! It's me." She waited but there was no response. She rapped again. "Come on, Lloyd, open up! The battle's over and I need to talk to you. I know you're in there."

They heard a shuffling coming from behind the cellar doors. Finally, they heard a muffled voice. "How do I know it's really you?"

Bella gave an exasperated sigh. "You think the walking corpses do impersonations now? Look Lloyd, we're coming in. Just don't attack us or anything." After a few more seconds of silence she added, "You know I have a key, right?"

The voice on other other end hesitated for a few seconds before finally huffing out a breath. "Alright, fine! Give me a second . . ."

They heard the lock turn and then the cellar door swung open. A fat man holding a lantern peered up at them. He raised the lantern to get a better look, and his eyes went wide when they landed on Morrigan. She sneered down at him.

"What do you want?" he asked fearfully.

"We need some poultices to treat the injured back at the Chantry. You know, your fellow townsfolk. The ones you let fight in your place?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow at the venom in Bella's voice, her mouth curving into an approving smile all on its own.

The dimwitted barkeep blinked up at the two women. He took a deep breath and then let it out in an exasperated sigh. "Well, I was keeping them just in case, but seeing the situation . . ." He peered up at them shrewdly. "I've got one of the large poultices and a couple of the smaller vials."

"Do you have any elfroot in stock?"

The man nodded and Morrigan could see the calculations the man was making behind his eyes. "Got half a dozen sprigs of elfroot, too." He looked up at her with a wide smile. "I'll sell you the lot for a sovereign."

Bella sputtered in shock beside her. "Lloyd! That's highway robbery and you know it." She turned to Morrigan. "He normally would charge about twenty silver for all that. He's trying to take advantage—"

Morrigan raised a hand to stop the wench from continuing. "'Tis only natural that he should seek to profit from this," she said evenly. "I daresay most would do the same if the situation were reversed." She could see the fat man's grin spread even wider at that, clearly happy that she wasn't offended. She let her own grin spread across her face, feeling her upper lip curl into a feral sort of smirk. "Now, let me make my counter offer."

Lloyd's smile faltered. "Alright . . ."

"My offer is this: you give me the potions, elfroot, and any other useful supplies you have on stock for free." She leaned forward and sneered. "And I refrain from lighting your tavern on fire with you in it."

Lloyd stared up at her in disbelief for a few seconds, before looking between Bella and Morrigan rapidly, his jowls shaking in fear. "Now wait just a minute—"

"That is my final offer, I'm afraid. And it's only on the table for three more seconds . . ." She held out her hand and summoned a tiny ball of fire just above it, swirling her fingers suggestively. "One . . ."

The fat man gaped at her. "You've got to be kidding—"

"Two."

Bella looked at Morrigan in alarm, before turning to Lloyd and shouting. "Just give her the damn potions, you idiot!"

Lloyd threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright!" he said. "I'll give it all to you. Just please . . . leave my tavern alone."

He disappeared back down the steps to retrieve the items and Morrigan let the fireball extinguish with a sputter. Bella let out a breath. "You weren't really going to set his tavern on fire, were you?"

Morrigan shrugged. "After I got the ingredients, perhaps."

Bella's eyes widened and she moved back a step. "Right," she said, drawing out the word.

Lloyd appeared, holding a cloth sack that tinkled with the sound of glass vials when he moved it. He handed it to Morrigan. "That's all the potions and elfroot I have, plus I threw in a couple of injury kits," he said, nervously licking his lips. "Are we good?"

Morrigan took the sack and peered into it. After a few seconds she looked up at the bartender with narrowed eyes. "Do you have anything else that could be useful to us?" she asked, letting her gaze travel over the man's shaking figure. "Think carefully . . ."

The man fumbled with something in his pocket. "Here!" he said, thrusting his fist up at Morrigan. "Take this ring! I don't know what it does but I know it's enchanted." He dropped a small gold ring into Morrigan's open palm.

She brought it closer to her face. It was a golden band that had what looked like a thread of some blue substance engraved on its surface into delicate runes. Morrigan could feel the hum of the enchantment embedded into the metal. She smiled down at the bauble, before looking at the tavern owner. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said with mock sweetness, before turning on her heel and heading back to the Chantry, smiling to herself at the man's sputtering answer.

* * *

"I like the way you think."

"Do you though?"

Morrigan paused outside the Revered Mother's private chambers. When she'd arrived back at the Chantry she'd learned from Leliana that the Chantry woman had offered up her own bedroom for Elissa's recovery. She'd hurried through the winding corridor to the last room on the right, but in spite of the danger, the hushed voices inside had made her pause.

"What do you mean?" Alistair spoke quietly, but the room must have been a small one, for Morrigan was able to hear every word. Not really knowing why, she flattened herself against the wall and listened.

"Well." Elissa cleared her throat. "Earlier today . . . I'm not quite sure if you were being rude or polite."

Morrigan frowned. There was something in Elissa's tone she'd never quite heard before—a nervous sort of candor that sounded utterly foreign coming out of Elissa's mouth. She shifted slightly and leaned over to try and get a glimpse in the room without being seen.

A small bed lay against the far wall of the bedroom. Morrigan couldn't see Elissa's face, but she could see that the noblewoman lay on her back on the bed, and that Alistair had pulled up a chair alongside it. He leaned forward. "Well I'm sure I didn't mean to be rude," he said lowly, his voice filled with that teasing tone he often took with Elissa. Morrigan despised it.

"I'm rather hoping you were." She heard Elissa take another deep breath. "I paid you a . . . compliment, you see. I said that I liked you for who you were and not just who your father was."

Elissa coughed and Morrigan looked guiltily down at the health poultice in her hand. She really should get in there and deliver it, but the wardens' conversation had turned rather intriguing.

_Just who was Alistair's father anyway?_

"Right," Alistair said, warmly. "I remember."

There was a few seconds of silence, and Morrigan wondered if Elissa had fallen unconscious, but then the noblewoman spoke again in what sounded like a nervous rush of breath. "Yes well, typically when one receives a compliment of that nature, the polite thing to do is respond in kind."

She could hear Alistair shift in his chair, but Elissa went on in another rush. "Of course, that's only if the sentiment is truly reciprocated. Otherwise, the only polite thing to do is . . . remain silent."

Morrigan could not possibly roll her eyes any harder. What did Elissa care if the Templar liked her or not? What a _ridiculous _question.

And yet, she found herself frozen there, awaiting Alistair's response.

"You . . . you want to know if I like you?" The incredulity in Alistair's voice made Morrigan want to smack him on the back of the head. By the void, was he ever _stupid . . ._

Elissa coughed again. "Well, I . . . it's not . . . it's not a _necessity_ that we be friends, of course. I am still quite capable of performing my duty as a Grey Warden regardless of how you feel. But of course . . ." She swallowed audibly. "I mean . . . it would perhaps make thing easier . . ."

She heard Alistair lean forward. "Elissa, you're _impossible_." He waited abeat. "Of course I like you."

Morrigan's lip curled at the audible sigh of relief Elissa emitted at _that_. "Oh? Oh. Well, that's . . . as I said it's not _necessary_ but it . . . it does make things easier if we get along doesn't it?"

In spite of Elissa's efforts to sound calm and composed, Morrigan could hear the smile in the other woman's voice. It made something in her stomach twist in disgust that Elissa would let the regard of a bumbling idiot like Alistair affect her so.

Still . . . she had more information than she did yesterday, and some of it might be useful at a later date. It left her with an odd and empty feeling to contemplate manipulating Elissa's emotions in such a way, but she shook it off. It had been a long day of saving foolish people from their own stupidity. She was done with such futility.

Taking a deep breath and feeling better armed than she had all day, Morrigan stepped into the private bedchamber and interrupted the two blushing wardens.

"Congratulations," she said with a sneer. "Your stupidity won't cost you your life . . . at least not tonight."

* * *

_Author's note: Sorry for the long wait between chapters! I had been aiming for a weekly update schedule, but alas, life got in the way. In any case, I promise we'll get to the Castle (and find out that Elissa's right about that hidden passageway) in the next installment. _

_Much thanks to **Riptide Monzarc** for looking this over, and thanks to everyone who has read and/or followed, favorited or reviewed. I appreciate all of you!_


	20. Light

**Poison and Wine**

_Chapter 20: Light_

_Keep my eyes open  
__My lips sealed  
__My heart closed  
__And my ears peeled__  
_

—_Hurricane_, MS MR

Logically Elissa knew that the likelihood that the secret passageway that ran under Lake Calenhad between the windmill in Redcliffe and the Castle's dungeons would choose this precise day and time to collapse on top of their heads was slim to none. She knew this, and yet she still felt raw and unnerved, and at the edge of her patience after only a few minutes of trekking through the dark tunnel.

Truth be told, it wasn't just the oppressive darkness of the damp passageway weighing on the young warden's mind. The exhaustion that she'd come to recognize as a new permanent factor of her existence had only intensified after last night's battle. She had fallen asleep easily, and no darkspawn dreams troubled her, but Morrigan had woken her at every odd hour to quaff more healing potions throughout the night.

She was thankful for the swamp witch's skill, and just a little resentful that all the fuss had only been an issue because Morrigan hadn't bothered to learn a single spell of healing in her entire career as a mage. Her gratitude had stopped her from pointing out this fact so far, however.

"Elissa." Alistair's voice rumbled into her ear from surprisingly close beside her. She kept her eyes trained on her feet lest she slip on the wet rock. "Are you alright?"

The warm concern in his voice touched her, and she risked a sidelong look up at him to offer a quick smile. "I'm fine," she said, turning back to study her feet. "Morrigan . . . took adequate care of me."

"You're _most_ welcome," Morrigan said, without turning around. She walked in front of them beside Leliana, and Sten and her hound, Prince, were at the head of their little caravan. Morrigan had summoned three wisps who hovered just over each pair's head and provided the only light in the underground tunnel. They were like three little islands of light in a sea of darkness.

Elissa shrugged at Morrigan's back and heard Alistair snort out a little laugh. Feeling just a touch guilty for getting a laugh at Morrigan's expense, she risked another glance at him, surprised at the warm feeling in her chest his laughter elicited.

But as she looked at him his face grew serious, and after a beat he stopped walking and she stopped and faced him. "No, I don't just mean your injuries," he said. "I mean just . . . in general." He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know this morning was rough," he finished lowly.

Elissa lowered her head and looked at her feet, a wave of embarrassment washing over her. That morning's funeral service had been unexpectedly difficult. She couldn't quite explain it. Although the deaths were regrettable, she didn't truly mourn the dead of Redcliffe enough to warrant the volume of tears that had sprung to her eyes while the Revered Mother spoke.

Watching so many people put on their visceral displays of grief had opened up something inside her that she normally tried to keep tightly hidden, she supposed. She had been powerless to fight the tears that streamed down her cheeks, but even though she'd hated every second of her public show of weakness, she did not let herself bend her head to hide her tears. She kept it held high and let them all see her for what she was: a broken, grieving soul just like them.

It had an effect on the villagers, apparently. After the ceremony she'd been surrounded by grateful citizens, all eager to shake her hand and shed more tears in her presence. The whole experience had left her nerves feeling tight and raw, and she fled as soon as she was able to. Of course, Alistair had been there for it all.

"I'm fine," she said, voice cracking a bit. She swallowed and tried again, keeping her eyes trained on her feet. "I'm not going to break down in the middle of a fight or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

He kept his hand on her shoulder, and then reached over and touched her chin gently with his other hand, lifting it slightly so that she was forced to meet his gaze. "That's not what I'm worried about," he said quietly. "I'm just worried about _you_."

Her breath did something strange and confusing in her throat, and she found herself unable to speak until he removed his hands to cross his arms in front of him. She lowered her head again, feeling the flush that had to be brightening her cheeks. "That's very kind of you," she said, hating the sudden woodenness that'd crept into her tone. "But I assure you, I'm fine."

She saw his feet shift slightly and heard the deep sigh he emitted. "Right."

The flatness of his tone made something inside her twist with guilt. But almost as strong and just as quickly her anger flared to life. What did he want from her anyway? The truth?

_"Elissa, you're impossible," he said, that infuriating little smirk on his lips. "Of course I like you."_

It had filled her with a rush of warmth and gratitude and a curious amount of nervousness to learn that despite how terribly difficult she knew she could be Alistair had seemed to accept her—flaws and all.

She supposed a little truth might not be so out of the question.

"I'm not fine," she breathed out in a rush, coming to a sudden decision and looking up to meet his gaze again.

His brow furrowed in concern. "What—"

She held up a hand to stop him from asking whatever it was he planned to ask. "I'm not fine. I'm _never_ fine. I don't know if I'll ever be fine again." Her voice shook unexpectedly at that last part and she scowled and tried to will herself not to cry. She would _not_ crack again. Not twice in one day.

"But—"

"But I can't stop to think about that. I can't . . . talk about it. I just . . . I just need to focus on what's in front of me. Do you understand?"

His gaze had softened noticeably during her little speech. "I think I do, actually," he said warmly.

She felt the knot in her shoulders relax a bit at his understanding tone, and she breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you."

The stood there for a few seconds, smiling at each other until Elissa felt her cheeks start to grow warm yet again. _Maker's might, what was going on with her?_

She cleared her throat and started walking. "Great," she said forcefully. "Let's just . . . keep going."

They walked a few minutes in blessed silence, until Alistair cleared his throat and spoke again. "So, speaking of what's in front of us, even I could see that Lady Isolde wasn't telling us everything."

"Right," she said distractedly, trying to pick her path carefully. It was particularly wet in this area of the tunnel. Elissa had to assume they were at least halfway to the castle by now . . . probably under the deepest part of the lake. She swallowed—her throat unreasonably dry. "Actually, that's not right," she went on, trying to focus on something, _anything_ other than the tons of water sloshing around innocently above their heads. "She really did tell us almost everything, unfortunately."

Alistair barked out a laugh. "I knew it! I knew you had something. I could just tell. You got that _look_."

"What look?" she said, aiming for an incredulous tone but sounding more amused than anything.

"It's kind of like this," he said, and then froze in his tracks. His mouth gaped open at something behind her. She whirled to look but could see nothing beyond the small circle of wisp light and the tunnel wall. Alistair's strangled laugh brought her attention back to him. At her confused look, he breathed out, "I was doing the _look_!"

She realized her mistake and tried to feel annoyed at his laughter, crossing her arms and scowling up at him. The effect was rather ruined, however, by the way her lips kept twitching into a smile.

He shot her an amused grin in response, and Elissa had to marvel at how the man could seem utterly naive and shy one moment, and then so confident and cocksure the next. "Alright," he said, still chuckling. "Let me try again."

He looked off in the distance with a sort of dazed expression, mouth hanging wide open.

She didn't have to fake the incredulity anymore. "I do not look like that!" she sputtered. "I do not _gape_!"

He was as immune to her righteous indignation as always. He just shot her another crooked grin and said "Well, you wear it better, I'll give you that," in a low, throaty tone that made her eyes grow wide.

Mercifully the Maker chose Morrigan as His unlikely instrument to save her from having to stammer incoherently at Alistair's wry little smirk. "Will you two quit dawdling and hurry up?" she snapped, suddenly appearing in their sphere of light. "We're here."

Elissa hurried forward, trying to put Alistair completely out of her mind in order to focus. In a few steps she saw that Morrigan told the truth. They'd made it to the other side of the lake, and now had to make their way up a steep staircase that had been carved into the stone.

They fell silent as they climbed, until she felt a finger poke her side. "So, don't keep me in suspense. What did you deduce about the arlessa?"

Her stomach twisted into a little knot again and she frowned. "Nothing good," she said grimly.

That was one of the other issues pressing into Elissa's consciousness. Her conversation with the arlessa, coupled with what Leliana had learned second-hand from the blacksmith's daughter, had given her enough information to piece together a theory or two about what might be going on in the castle.

It wasn't a pretty picture, and for once she'd kept quiet, not really wanting to bring it up with Alistair. As far as she could tell, the arlessa and her son were some of the only people he could count as any sort of family.

She knew he harbored resentment toward the arlessa, and she could understand why, though her rational mind also understood where the arlessa must have been coming from as well. Of course, it was harder to see the woman's point of view after she'd actually _met_ her, and been on the receiving end of her haughty disdain. It had made her feel vaguely self-conscious, in truth, and that was reason enough to dislike the woman. Of course, once she knew what was going on . . .

"Elissa?" Alistair's voice cut into her ruminations, and she gave herself a little shake.

She took a deep breath, realizing that whether she told them or not, they would all find out rather soon, anyway. "So it's fairly clear that the mage who poisoned the arl was the same tutor Leliana learned about from the blacksmith," she said, forgoing some of her usual preamble, not finding this reveal particularly fun. "You know what that means."

She heard Alistair pause on the step behind her, and turned to look at him.

He face bore a rather shocked, scandalized expression. "The arlessa is sleeping with a mage?"

In spite of everything, she couldn't help the laughter that erupted from her at that, and soon Morrigan joined in. "Idiot," the swamp witch said after a beat.

Before Alistair could lash back in response, Elissa placed a hand on his shoulder and asked patiently. "Why might Isolde need a mage to tutor Connor?"

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, and then she saw comprehension dawn. "Connor? A mage? I can't believe it!"

Standing on the step in front of him allowed her to be at eye level with him, for once. His eyes were still wide in surprise. _Were they brown or were they a warm amber? They seemed to change with his mood. _"That's my guess," she said evenly, taking her hand away.

Alistair rubbed his neck, still looking dumbstruck. "Wow. The arlessa . . . she's pretty pious . . ."

"So having a mage for a son would be particularly humiliating," Elissa finished for him.

He nodded at this and looked to the side, thoughtfully, and she found herself studying his features by the light of the little wisp. He was quite handsome, she realized, somehow more so now than when she'd first met him, though that made no sense at all. She frowned as she studied him. No, he was objectively handsome, she decided, letting her eyes wander over his strong jaw and full mouth. She must have been too consumed with grief to notice it before, she realized. Now though, she was more capable of making such an observation.

But that's all that it was—an objective assessment, she told herself, frowning and looking away before he could catch her staring.

He turned back to her with a start. "So, do you think Connor might've . . . summoned a demon? Or something?"

She took a deep breath. "That's . . . certainly a theory," she said, before looking up at him with a sad frown. "Or he's become an abomination," she said quietly.

Alistair blinked at her in surprise and then set his mouth into a grim line. "We'll find out soon enough, I'd wager."

"Right," Elissa muttered, and turned to finish climbing the set of stairs.

When she finally made it to the top she found Leliana already crouched by a massive wooden door, working on the lock with her picks.

"Teagan might've tossed us the key to this door, don't you think?" Alistair said amiably as he made it to the top of the stairs.

"It is of no consequence," Leliana said in a sing-song voice, hopping to her feet as they all heard a loud click and the heavy door swung open.

Nearly half of the sconces in Castle Redcliffe's dungeon were left unlit, and yet the torchlight seemed unbearably bright as they filed into the lower reaches of the fortress, forcing them to squint into the dungeon gloom.

Elissa felt like she could breathe again as they all began walking down the hall toward a row of cells at the other end. The darkened squalor of the dungeon was somehow infinitely better than the oppressively dark tunnel.

"Help!" They all heard a high pitched voice cry out, and in a moment Prince was barking wildly and rushing toward the end of the hall, Sten right behind him, heading to a group of walking corpses gathered around a single cell. "_Help_!"

Leliana rushed into the fray, while Morrigan planted her feet and began her casting. Elissa reached over her shoulder to draw her crossbow, but seeing Leliana, Prince, and Sten already engaged with the creatures, she realized shooting into their midst would not be wise. With a grimace, she drew her dagger and family sword from the sheaths at her hips and ran after Alistair, biting down her trepidation and hoping that the training Leliana had provided her was enough.

Whether it was her enthusiasm or skill, Elissa didn't really know, but she found it quite easy to contribute to the fight by sticking her sword or dagger into the backs of the corpses otherwise engaged in fighting somebody else. It was surprisingly satisfying, plunging her weapon into another creature and seeing it fall by her hand—it felt visceral and real in a way that ranged combat never did.

They felled the last creature and Elissa looked up, panting, wondering if anyone would note her new and improved participation in melee combat. Of course, they were all panting too, and before anyone could speak, a voice rang out from the nearest cell.

"Hello? Who's there? Is there anyone alive out there?"

They turned as one to regard the figure in the cell before them. He was a young man, probably not much older than Elissa, with brown-black hair and a long, horsey face. Elissa immediately noted the robes he wore—filthy and ragged as they were.

_Here is the apostate that poisoned the arl._

"Wait," he said, stepping closer to the bars. "You don't look like the arlessa's guards. Are you from outside the castle?"

Before anyone else could respond Elissa darted to the front of the cell, grabbing the bar at shoulder height and narrowing her eyes at the man. "Tell me, _mage_. How exactly did Teyrn Loghain find out the arlessa's son had magic?"

The mage trembled at her hostility, backing away from the cell door. "Wh-what? You . . . you've spoken to the arlessa?" His voice rose an octave in fear and his adam's apple bobbed up and down in his throat. He took a steadying breath. "Then you know what I did."

Elissa sighed impatiently. "Yes. Teyrn Loghain . . . or was it Arl Howe? Obviously hired you to infiltrate he castle and poison the arl. What I want to know is: how did Loghain know Connor was a mage?"

"I don't know!" the man cried, holding up his hands as if in surrender. "He just . . . did. He didn't tell me how he found out."

Elissa blinked up at the apostate a few seconds before leaning into the bars. "You spoke to the Teyrn directly?"

"Yes," the mage nodded sadly. "When the templars caught me, they brought me to Denerim to await execution."

Elissa started at his confession. The circle didn't just execute ordinary apostates, did they? The mage went on, oblivious to her suspicious glare. "Eventually, someone came to see me, alone. It was the teyrn. I'd seen paintings of him, so I knew. I thought he'd have me executed right there, but he said I could make up for my crime. He said I would be helping the country!"

Elissa leaned back a fraction of an inch from the cell door. "What crime were you guilty of?"

She wouldn't have thought it possible, but he managed to look even more mournful. "You see, I'm a maleficar: a blood mage."

Elissa backed away from the cell door as if it'd grown hot. Her throat constricted and she felt on the verge of a sudden and intense panic. _A blood mage_. Her own blood pounded in her ears at the news, and she was gripped by a sudden and all consuming fear.

Blood mages lied. Blood mages made deals with demons to gain their powers. But most of all, blood mages could _control your mind._

Morrigan scoffed in disbelief. "You? A blood mage? Truly? I would never have guessed." Elissa couldn't tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.

"A blood mage!" Alistair exclaimed. "Well, that isn't good."

"I dabbled in the forbidden arts, and they condemned me to death for it. I thought Loghain was giving me a chance to . . . redeem myself . . ." The mage grew emboldened in his despair, and stepped up to the bars to grip them. "But he's abandoned me here, hasn't he?" His eyes darted among them, making him look a bit like a cornered animal. "Everything's fallen apart, and I'm responsible! I have to make it right somehow, I have to!"

At that Elissa's eyes narrowed. "You're the cause of all this? What did you do? Tear the veil? Summon a demon?"

The mage shook his head frantically. "I . . . I know it looks suspicious, but I'm not responsible for the creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned here when all that began. She . . . had me tortured," the mage whispered hoarsely. "There was nothing I could do or say that would—"

"Just how much magic did you teach Connor?" Elissa snapped, uncomfortable at the naked horror on the young man's face. He was a _maleficar_, she reminded herself, and thus had likely earned every punishment he'd received.

The mage blinked up at her and then shrugged. "Some. But he's still very young. He can barely cast a minor spell—never mind something more powerful." His brows knit together. "At least, not intentionally," he added.

Elissa scowled up at the forlorn looking mage. "So is your contention that it is the _child_ who is responsible for raising the dead? That he tore the veil?"

"No!" the mage said, voice cracking in fear. Then his shoulders slumped. "Well, I mean, I don't really know," he said. "It's possible he may have done something to tear open the Veil. With the Veil to the Fade torn, spirits and demons could infiltrate the castle. Powerful ones could kill and create those walking corpses."

Elissa glared at the mage for a few moments, trying to ascertain whether the young man was telling the truth. He certainly sounded sincere, but his ready admission to blood magic left her wary of trusting any word he spoke. For all she knew, this was all a part of some larger plot.

But the lost-looking sap in front of her didn't seem to be at all capable of orchestrating a complicated plan.

She frowned at the disheveled man. "I see. I think I understand."

"I never meant for it to end like this. I swear. Let me help you fix this." His grey-green eyes glanced at each of them, desperation evident in their depths.

Elissa took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what surely had to be done. But before she could say anything, Morrigan piped up from behind her.

"I say this boy could still be of use to us," she said adamantly, before shrugging a shoulder. "But if not, then let him go. Why keep him prisoner here?"

Elissa opened her mouth to retort but Alistair beat her to it. "Hey, hey!" he said, voice rising in agitation. "Let's not forget he's a blood mage! You can't just . . . set a blood mage free!"

Morrigan took a step toward the templar. "Better to _slay_ him? Better to punish him for his _choices_? Is this Alistair who speaks, or the templar?"

Alistair's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Sten's voice rumbled out. "I say kill the mage. He cannot be trusted."

Elissa took a deep breath, ready to thank Sten for his reasonable statement, but Alistair chimed in before she could speak. "He doesn't need to _die_ surely!"

Her head snapped back to Alistair, surprised at his waffling.

"He wishes to redeem himself . . . doesn't everyone deserve that chance?" Leliana asked.

Elissa felt her eyebrows climb her forehead, astonished that Leliana was being so transparent. She was about to ask whether she was speaking for herself or the maleficar, but Morrigan spoke up instead, sneering out "Like _yourself_, you mean?"

Elissa blinked in surprise at Morrigan's tone, wondering how much the witch had figured out of Leliana's past.

Leliana flushed, but she would not be so easily dissuaded. She turned to Alistair, beseeching him to agree with her with her pleading look. "Everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves in the Maker's eyes; this man no less than any," she said passionately.

Elissa rolled her eyes; Leliana's convictions were all fine and dandy for _her_, but she wasn't about to let them stand in the way of the only rational decision—

"I don't know," Alistair said, looking at Leliana doubtfully. "He_ is_ a blood mage . . . but this is an unusual situation."

She wanted to strangle him for his capitulation in the face of Leliana's obvious manipulation.

"Give me a chance, please!" the mage's plaintive voice interrupted their heated discussion.

"Enough!" Elissa snapped, whirling to face the mage. She'd made her decision, and the others would just have to deal with it. "I can't leave you here alive."

Leliana gasped, but Morrigan spoke first. "_Why_ can you not?" she asked heatedly. "Must he be destroyed simply for what he is?"

Elissa turned to gape at Morrigan. "What he _is_ is a confessed maleficar and an attempted murderer. I'd say that's reason enough to die."

Morrigan looked at her, and for the first time since they'd met she saw genuine distress in the other's normally practiced indifferent gaze. It quickly passed, replaced with a hardened stare. "I see," she said icily. "So be it."

She didn't look at Leliana and Alistair as she turned toward the cell. She heard them shift behind her, but neither said a word or made a move to stop her as she drew her dagger.

The blood mage gulped at the flash of steel. "I understand, and . . . I accept it." She knew she shouldn't, but she met the man's gaze. He looked defeated and resigned to his fate, and shuffled up to the bars, leaning his head against them. "Do . . . do what you have to."

Elissa gripped her dagger and stared at the mage in front of her, feeling as if her legs were petrified tree trunks. She licked her lips and tried to visualize the strike she could take to enact an instant killing blow.

After a few seconds, she let out the breath she'd been holding, swearing under her breath. "I can't kill you."

"Thank the maker!" Leliana cried as Elissa sheathed her dagger and took a step backward.

Her mind was a whirlwind. Killing the blood mage was the safest thing to do, she knew, and the most rational. Except . . . maybe it wasn't. She frowned down at her feet. Was it possible that her fear was leading her to make a rash decision?

She had to concede that it was possible. So the mage would be allowed to live. For now.

He finally looked up and seemed to understand that his death wasn't seconds away. "Then . . . what? What do you want me to do?"

"You'll stay where you are for now," Elissa said quickly, and then narrowed her eyes. "After this is over, I expect you to make a full confession, in _writing_, about yours and the Teyrn's involvement in the attempted murder of Arl Eamon."

"Of course!" He gave a little laugh. "But no one is going to take the word of a blood mage seriously."

"Obviously," she said with a scowl. "But you'll leave the statement nonetheless." It would provide a useful starting point for them to corroborate the man's story, and it might lead to someone who knew more.

"Then I will wait," the blood mage said, nodding. "If you change your mind, I will be here."

Elissa nodded her silent response, before turning away from him to face the rest of the party. She saw on each of their faces some measure of disappointment in how she'd handled the encounter with the maleficar.

She bit back the rising irritation in her chest and waved a hand dismissively at the lot of them. "Well! Let us continue," she snapped, before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the rest of the castle, unsettled enough by the reaction of her companions to make a determined vow that this incident with the mage be the very last time today that she let her emotions get the better of her.


End file.
